


Somebody's Daughter

by INTPSlytherin_reylove97



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: ANNNNGGGGSSSSST, Adopted Children, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Art, Artist Rey (Star Wars), Badass Rey, Barista Ben Solo, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben Solo is the Best Dad, Children, Children of Characters, Depression, Drinking, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Fluff, Former Accountant Ben Solo, Gen, Humor, IT WOULDNT BE MY FIC IF HE WASNT, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Mentions of Pregnancy, Mildly Dubious Consent, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painting, Recreational Drug Use Briefly Mentioned, References to Depression, Rey Needs A Hug, Rey Palpatine, Secrets, Single Dad Ben Solo, Single Parents, Sketching, Social Anxiety, Soft Ben Solo, Strangers to Lovers, Teacher Rey (Star Wars), Teen pregnancy mentioned, Underage Drinking, Unplanned Pregnancy, Yes Obi-Wan is in this, dad ben solo, pregnancy mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 92,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INTPSlytherin_reylove97/pseuds/INTPSlytherin_reylove97
Summary: Breha Padme Solo knew she was adopted; her father, Ben Solo, never kept it a secret from her.And Ben always did his best—a doting father who cared too much and wore his heart on his sleeve. She couldn’t have imagined anyone else raising her…but that didn’t mean Breha wasn’t curious.Curious of where she got her freckles and hazel eyes. Curious of the woman who gave her up.“For a better life,” her father would always remind her.Breha understood, but when she finds her adoption papers, she becomes determined to find her birth mother.
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 641
Kudos: 625





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> *walks in*
> 
> *drops another WIP*
> 
> I will see myself out.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

_Prologue_

* * *

The moment she walked into the room, Breha knew it was _her_.

How she held herself, the freckles on her nose, and her bright hazel eyes. Her fun, tea length pleated jean skirt, the paint splattered t-shirt, and bright green Converse—her attire spoke of her free spirt and creativity.

(Just like Breha.)

There was a hop to her step, she grinning brightly at the students taking their seats at the work tables. She was younger than Breha imagined, in her late twenties, no older than thirty. Her hair flounced around her chin, chestnut hair (just a tad lighter than Breha’s before she dyed it the dark turquois color her father hated) cropped short. She made eye contact with each and every student, mouthing a cheerful ‘hello’ and waving giddily to student’s she recognized.

Her eyes connected with Breha’s for a fleeting second, she smiling and giving a quick nod.

Breha’s heart raced, her hands around her binder tightening.

This woman had to absolutely be her.

Breha had done her research, gone through numerous outlets, contacted the adoption agency…and she _finally_ found her.

Ms. Rey Williams was her mother. She had to be.

“Alright class,” Ms. Williams began, clapping her hands together. Breha’s ears perked up at the accent, never expecting the woman to possess British accent. Attention zeroed in on Ms. Williams, all the teenagers eagerly awaiting to hear what their favorite teacher had to say. “Welcome to a new semester here at Yavin Academy of the Arts! I see some familiar faces and some fresh ones.” She sat down on the edge of the unoccupied worktable at the front of the room, swinging her legs jovially. “How about we start with introductions? I’m Rey Williams—you can call me Ms. Rey or Ms. Williams, I am fine with either. This,” she waved to the classroom, “is your homeroom and one of your classes, which should be Scenic Painting, Drawing II, Painting II, or the History of Contemporary Art. If you are in none of those classes, please go to the counseling office now because there might be a mix up in your schedule.”

Murmurs went through the classroom, students double checking their schedules.

Breha didn’t need to double check. She had her schedule memorized for weeks, back when she and her father came for registration in later July.

She had Ms. Rey for Scenic Painting and Drawing II. A triple dose of the woman; just like Breha planned it.

_“I’m positive Ms. Williams is going to be sick of you by the end of the year,” her father teased when he went over her schedule with her. “_ Three _classes—thank god for block schedules.”_

“Let’s go around the room and say our name, year, and a fun fact about yourself,” Rey announced to the class of fifteen students, motioning to her right. One by one the students introduced themselves, the majority juniors and seniors, familiar faces to each other and their teacher. Soon enough eyes landed on Breha, waiting expectantly. “Your turn,” Rey nodded at her encouragingly, as though sensing her nervousness from across the classroom.

“Uh,” Breha cleared her throat, sitting taller than before. _Breathe, kiddo—_ her father’s voice reminded her, she calming down seconds later. She just needed to breathe and be herself. Not think about how this was the first time she’d be introducing herself to her mother. Not about how monumental this moment will be for the rest of her life. “I’m Breha Solo, I’m a freshman and a fun fact…” she chewed on the inside of her cheek, thinking hard, “…my favorite flower is a sunflower.”

“Twin-sies!” Rey cheered, grinning brightly at the girl. “My favorite flower is a sunflower too!”

A relieved sigh escaped Breha, she slumping in her seat. Her classmate at the next worktable picked up the next introduction, yet Rey’s eyes remained on her.

She gave a quick wink, before giving all her attention to the rest of the students.

Breha could not help but feel lighter at the gesture.

* * *

“Have a good first day!” Rey called out after the bell, students rushing out before she officially excused them. “Remember make good choices and try to be on time for class!”

Jeers and groans came from the students, though mostly in goodbye to their teacher, all in a hurry to see their friends or get to their next class. Breha, on the other hand, took her time collecting her things and waiting until the bottleneck at the door died down. Glancing around the room, her eyes caught Rey’s, the woman delighted to have caught her attention.

“Oh, Breha—a moment.” She waved her over, Breha stepping up to the front of the room hesitantly. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you.”

Breha’s pulse picked up—did…did Rey _know_? It was a partially closed adoption, so it seemed unlikely, but her hope could not be diminished.

“Likewise,” she stuttered out, holding her head up high. “I’m so excited to be here and have classes with you.”

“I need to say, your portfolio was some of the best work I have seen come through this academy,” Rey praised, her voice low in an attempt of some privacy from the filtering in students. “It is an honor to meet the artist behind such passionate work.”

Rey’s earnest words caused the girl’s hope to deflate a fraction.

Of course she didn’t know. It was silly for Breha to think otherwise.

“I’m excited to see how you grow this next semester,” Rey clasped her hands under her chin, her entire being buzzing with energy, “I can sense big things coming for you.”

“That…that means a lot,” Breha said, hoping she didn’t sound too out of breath, “especially coming from you.”

For an instant Rey’s eyebrows furrowed at her choice of words, but she shrugged it off a moment later, nodding to the door. “Now hurry off. Got lots of classes and little pass time. See you in third period.”

Not needing to be told twice, Breha hurried off, attempting to control her breathing.

As she ambled her way over to her English class, a grin budged at the corner of her mouth.

She did it.

She met _her_.


	2. Crying is a Condition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update!
> 
> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> ENJOY :D

* * *

_**Crying is a Condition** _

* * *

**A Year Previous…**

Breha wasn’t subtle to save her life.

Even when she tried to do the subtle approach.

All through out the first semester of eighth grade, she made show of mentioning Yavin Academy of the Arts at least once a day. A fleeting comment here and there.

“Did you know Yavin has three divisions in their arts programs—visual, theatre, and music.”

“That’s very interesting Breha,” her father murmured, squinting at the recipe he was using for dinner. He always liked to get a new cookbook and try everything at least once just for the sake of trying it. More often than not, they’d either hate the meal or fail to some degree and just order take-out, make mac-and-cheese, or call Aunt Rose for help. “Can you stir the pasta, kiddo?”

So when dropping hints didn’t work, she decided to drop pamphlets for the art’s high school all over the house.

In the kitchen.

In the living room.

In the dining room.

In her dad’s office.

In her dad’s bedroom.

In the bathroom.

She even started leaving some at Nana Leia’s and Aunt Rose’s houses, hoping her dad would stumble upon one and think “ _Oh, this would be great for Breha_!” Or at the very least her grandparents or aunt would have enough sense to suggest the idea to her dad after seeing the pamphlets themselves.

Yet her dad never spared a glance at the pamphlets, tossing them aside if they were in the way or throwing them in the trash like there were any other spam mail.

Her father was a tough cookie to crack. And she just needed his to crack a _smidge_. Enough to slide the idea in and hopefully, have him be excited.

Thankfully at her middle school’s Fall Art Show, she’d been able to coerce her Nana Leia, Papa Han, and Aunt Rose to mention Yavin Academy of the Arts as a response to her work. Sure, she had to promise to watch _British Bake Off_ with Nana on the weekends and help Papa with his car whenever he asked, and maybe be a _little_ nicer to Aunt Rose’s boyfriend Armitage—but it was well worth it if it meant her family could convince her dad about the arts school.

“Isn’t her work just gorgeous, Ben.” Papa Han peeked past her dad, sharing a wink with Breha.

She gave a small thumbs up back. Leave it to Papa to break the ice.

“You know with talent like that,” Papa Han continued, voice gruff and full of heart, “she should really go somewhere where she can grow and they help her grow.”

Her father grunted, taking a sip of his complimentary coffee. “She is extremely talented.” He ruffled Breha’s hair, mussing her half hearted braids. She tried to make them like how her dad and Nana Leia did them, but she gave up in a frustrated flurry before leaving. “I couldn’t be prouder.”

“But just think, she is good enough to get into arts school,” Leia was quick to tack on, stepping closer to the piece they were observing. The night’s theme was _Autumn Memories_ , student’s asked to display pieces they worked on for the last couple of months that demonstrated one of their favorite memoires from the season. Warm yellows and dark oranges were smeared in a deep autumn sunset, the watercolor piece dreamlike. “I’d say you need to tap into her potential, son.”

Ben’s brows furrowed at the comment. He opened his mouth to reply when Rose came over with joyful squeals and hugs. “Oh Breha, sweetie, your work looks amazing!” She squeezed the girl to her side, Breha hunching ever so slightly. Over the summer she had a growth spurt, she stretching a couple of inches taller than both Nana Leia and Aunt Rose, yet still not completely comfortable in her body. “You are a child protégé—oh, you know what, you should go to that one arts high school!” Rose dramatically tapped her chin, feigning thought. “What is it called again?”

Oh dear god—apparently no one in their little family was subtle in the least. Rose met Breha’s gaze and gave on outrageous wink.

“Uh—Yavin Academy of the Arts,” Breha supplied quietly.

Her dad stopped drink his coffee mid-sip, eyes narrowing on her. He dropped his arm down, realization weighing heavy on him. “Alright, what the hell is this? You’ve been mentioning this school nonstop and now you have the three stooges in on it?”

“Dad,” she began, stepping free from her Aunt Rose’s hug, “I just _really_ want to go.”

His lips pursed, calculating eyes scanning the awaiting faces of their family. “Let’s talk about this later okay?”

“But I want to talk about it now,” she insisted, “I’ve been wanting to talk about it for weeks!”

“ _Breha_ ,” Ben said in warning. Stepping to her, he rested a hand on her shoulder. “I think I need some more coffee and you can help me get some,” he lifted his gaze to his parents and best friend, “ _alone_.”

With a careful hand, he led her over to the refreshment’s table. He poured more coffee into his Styrofoam cup, before ripping open a couple of packets of sugar and dumping the contents in.

Breha’s nose wrinkled. Her dad the most obscene sweet tooth, one Breha could never understand, she gravitating to more sour and bitter snacks and treats.

She picked up a small cup of strawberries from the table while her dad snatched another sugar cookie. “Let’s walk and talk, kiddo.”

Together, in tandem, they slowly walked the perimeter of the small gallery. Taking their sweet time, eating their snacks, they stopped and pondered over pieces. They didn’t speak, sharing knowing glances on what they thought—which consisted of half frowns, shrugs, and small smiles.

It wasn’t until her dad’s cookie was finished and his coffee was half gone did he speak up, finding the right words in their silence. “Believe it or not Breha, I’m not an idiot." He tapped his foot, focusing on the charcoal sketch of an oak tree. The large canvas was lopsided and a bit _too_ shaded, but full of heart. “I know you want to go to Yavin Academy. I have seen the pamphlet through out the house and can probably recite it to you word for word. And it sounds like a great school…”

“‘ _But’_?” Breha pressed, knowing her father too well.

“But it will be _a lot_.” His eyes finally landed on her, apologetic yet stern. “Yavin is almost a forty-five minute drive, plus there is tuition, and the matter of even getting into the school. It’s highly competitive. I don’t want you to get your hopes up if doesn’t work out.”

Breha chewed hard on bottom lip. Her dad had a point—it would be tricky. Things could not work in their favor.

But this felt perfect. This felt _serendipitous_.

The odds of her birth mother teaching at an arts academy, teaching Breha’s main medium, and being less than an hour away…

She couldn’t _not_ try to get into Yavin Academy.

“But I want to try,” Breha said, determined. “Because I love this and I want to be the best I can be, even if that means putting in more work.”

Ben’s frown soften to an understanding smile, he pulling Breha to his side. “Ugh, you’re too much like me sometimes. It’s _annoying_ ,” he groaned dramatically, head falling back.

She giggled, letting him hug her for a second before wiggling away. “So does that mean I can apply?”

“Yes,” Ben nodded once, resting a firm hand on her shoulder. His eyes matched her levelly, a warning for no funny business, knowing her to be too mischievous and opportunistic for her own good. “You can apply for Yavin Academy of the Arts,” Breha grinned brightly, a squeal emerging from the back of her throat. “But—” Ben interjected before she could get too excited, “—when you do get in, we are having a long and thorough talk about what this entails. This can change structure of our lives; scheduling, driving, work hours—”

“When I do get in?” Breha said, cutting off her dad’s nervous rambles; he always thought of a thousand problems before even making a step in any direction. This situation would only bring out the worst of it. “You really think I can get in?”

“Of course, kiddo,” Ben slouched down, at her level, “you’re a—what was the phrase Rose used?— ‘ _a child protégé’_? They’d be idiots to not accept you.”

Luckily, Yavin Academy’s administration weren’t idiots, much to their little family’s delight.

* * *

**Present Day**

** Dad **

**How’s the first day going?**

Breha frowned at the text message, tucking her phone back into her pocket. Reaching into her backpack, she removed her lunch bag. Her dad, naturally, attempted to pack her a lunch for her first day. A ham croissant sandwich that was clearly made by Aunt Rose, a staple at her café, gummy fruit snacks, and yogurt. Somewhat healthy and definitely thrown together last minute. She was positive the fruit snacks were expired.

Shifting against the wall, she dug into her lunch, pushing down the anxiety riling up inside her.

She took one step into the cafeteria, pulse jumping and stomach churning, and ran in the opposite direction.

There were too many seats. Too many options. And too many unfamiliar faces.

God, she never did think going to school outside of their small town would entail becoming the new kid. At least, back in Ahch-To, it was the same group of kids each year—only one preschool, one elementary school, and one junction middle school-high school. She’d known her classmates all her life…but here?

It was walking into the unknown.

She’d been too advanced in her skills to be placed with the other freshman in the arts courses, alienating her from the others in general academics but then she was younger than all her peers in her art classes. Overall, she’d received more sneers than friendly smiles and it was only lunch.

Huffing, she took a large bite of her sandwich, chewing as slowly as possible. As if chewing slowly would some how soothe the pain of loneliness.

“Come on, it’s the first day,” a voice called out from down the hall, “you seriously cannot use the excuse of ‘grading’—there is _nothing_ to grade.”

“Ah, no,” the familiar voice called out, her British lit lower. “You know I like to have my lunches alone, Finn. But thank you for the offer.”

Breha stilled, mouth full of her sandwich. She hadn’t even realize in her departure that she ran all the way to the visual arts hall—back to her homeroom.

And was sitting outside the classroom like a pathetic moron.

The sound of sneaker feet rounded the corner, Rey fiddling with her keys as she swung a steaming lunch pail in her other hand. As she jammed her key into her classroom doorknob, she lifted her head, catching sight of Breha in her peripherals.

She paused, door pulled partially open. “Breha?” Glancing around for any other students, her head snapped back to the girl brows furrowed. “Why aren’t you at the caf with the rest of the students?”

A sniffle came from Breha without warning.

Then another…

And then the waterworks came in full fruition, a half sob coming from her.

“Oh dear,” Rey tsked under her breath. She propped open her door before ambling over to Breha.

Standing before Breha, Rey held her hand out, waiting expectantly.

“What?” Breha blinked blurrily at the offer.

“Get up off your bum—you’re having lunch with me, alright?”

Setting her sandwich back in her bag, Breha took her hand.

Firm and calloused, and dried paint stuck under her nails. She thought of soft hands; she always imagined a mother’s hands to be soft and gentle, not rough.

But the roughness suited Rey because they were artist’s hands. She created with those hands.

And that was more wonderful than any soft motherly hand Breha could have imagined.

Once standing up, Breha collected her things and followed Rey into the classroom, still sniffling.

The woman made way to drop her keys at her desk off to the right corner of the classroom and grabbed a box of tissues from behind a picture frame—it was of a dog in funky pumpkin costume. An odd part of Breha was relieved there weren’t any other pictures of children anywhere. Just of the scrappy looking dog.

“Here you go,” Rey handed over the tissues to Breha. “I always have them behind the picture of BB, my pup. I am bit of crier myself, so you’re not alone.”

Breha’s lips twitched at the similarity. “I cry over everything—commercials, movies—even happy ones. My dad jokes it’s a condition.”

Rey snorted. “Well tell him he might be right.” She sat down at closest worktable, motioning for Breha to take the seat across from her. She followed the woman’s lead, getting her lunch out again. “But there’s nothing wrong with crying. We all cry—it’s part of our biology. And sometimes crying is just how some body’s express and compute. It’s natural.”

“That’s…that actually makes sense,” Breha breathed out.

Rey hummed in agreement. “It’s something I tell myself when life feels a little sucky. That it’s okay to feel what I feel.” She opened her own lunch, stirring her homemade mac and cheese. “And first days can be sucky—lord knows, I’ve gone through a number.”

“You’ve been new before too?”

“All the time,” Rey nodded in understanding, “always a fish out of water. My grandfather, who was also my guardian at the time, was in the military. So moving was just part of life.” Her natural smile diminished for a fleeting second, her bright eyes haunted at the mention of her grandfather.

“Ms. Rey—”

“Enough about me,” she barreled through, clearing her throat, “how about you Miss Breha? Where’d you go to school before Yavin?”

“Uh, Ahch-To Secondary,” she explained absentmindedly.

“Ahch-To!” The woman perked at the name. “I’ve only been there a couple of times, but I hear it is lovely there. The harbor is just beautiful.”

“It really is,” Breha confessed, “it has some of best places to paint. I love it.”

“Then I will need to make a visit there soon, maybe do some landscape painting since it is so highly recommended,” Rey teased lightly, shoveling a spoonful of mac and cheese in her mouth.

Breha refrained a chuckle at Rey, the woman eating graceless and greedily. Melted cheese drippled on her chin, she catching it with her finger and licking it off. Her father would have had a conniption at the sight, a neat freak when it came to eating. He still kept extra shirts for Breha in the car in case she ever spilled food while she ate and a stain remove stick remained in his front pocket at all times, ready to prevent a disaster.

“So did your family move to Yavin or…?”

“I’m doing the commute—well, my dad is doing the commute.” Breha recalled how long and anxious the drive to school had been that morning, her dad constantly checking time and asking her to double check alternative routes on the GPS. They’d be doing that drive twice a day together. Breha wasn’t too sure if she could handle doing it the one time.

Rey blinked, surprised by the news. “Oh, wow. That is awfully kind of him.”

Breha shrugged. “He says it’s his job and he wants the best.”

“And your mum?” Rey asked before quickly correcting herself, “or other dad? I realize I shouldn’t have assumed—”

Breha shook her head, laughing. “No mum or other dad,” she winced out, “just me and dad. It’s always just been us.”

“Ah,” Rey nodded, the pieces of Breha’s life clicking for her, “I see. Your dad sounds like a great dad.”

“He is, he really is.”

* * *

“Fucking shit!” Ben slammed his hand on the horn, traffic moving slower than before. “God damn it! Some of us need to pick up our goddamn kids from school!”

He was less than five minutes away from Breha’s school, taking a late lunch. Well if three o’clock in the afternoon could be considered a ‘late lunch’ and leaving Mitaka, the mousey college kid he hired out of desperation, was a valid decision.

It wasn’t.

But he had to trust Mitaka wouldn’t let the café burn down while he was gone.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, eyeing the crowded intersection.

His eyes darted to the clock on his dashboard.

Damn. He was already thirty minutes late picking up Breha. He texted her when he was on his way, but he wasn’t about to text her when he was driving. He was a stickler for that rule.

After waiting a few more minutes, more honks heard across the freeway, the intersection began to move and clear up. Soon enough, Ben was getting off the freeway and turning on to correct street—4th Street, just down the lane from downtown Yavin.

He pulled into the empty parking lot and parked in the loading zone. From his vantage point, he couldn’t see Breha waiting where he told her, right by the cluster of small pine trees to the left of the entrance.

Checking his phone, he found a couple if missed calls and one text message.

** Breha **

**I think you might be running late.**

**I’m in Ms. Williams’ room, 208.**

Exhaling a sigh of relief, Ben shut off the car and climbed out.

He took one quick glance at the directory—one he memorized in his paranoia one night—and took off towards the second floor. There were a few secretaries who glanced his way as he passed by the front office, those who recognized him waving ‘hello’. He supposed that was the benefit of a private school; barely the first day and they knew his face.

Or maybe he just had a recognizable face; that could very well be the case as well.

Upon reaching the second floor, Ben heard laughter echoing from a room further down the hall. He followed the joyful sounds up to room 208, the door propped open.

“It was the silliest art project ever, but I am positive it may have scarred poor BB forever!”

Popping his head into the room, he stared stunned at the sight.

Sitting there was Breha, head thrown back in laughter, chatting with a woman who…

Well, with a woman who could pass as his daughter’s doppelgänger. Almost an older version of Breha—same jawline and smile. Her head was thrown back in the same fashion, their giggles in an odd harmony that caused Ben’s breath the stutter in his chest.

“Dad!” Breha hopped off the worktable, rushing over to him.

He was glad she still got excited to see him, still hugged him like she was a littler girl, instead of the grumpy fourteen year old she gave flashes of every so often.

“Hey kiddo,” he hugged her to his side, giving a half ruffle to her dark turquoise hair as he let go. She swatted him away, shrugging her backpack higher on her shoulders. “Sorry about being late—traffic and then Rose had an appointment today, so I had to leave Mitaka alone.”

Breha cringed at the name of his employee. “Oh no.”

“Yeah, same sentiments,” he added with an eyeroll. His attention then darted to the woman moving around the room, gathering her own belongings. Ms. Williams, he presumed. “Oh uh, thank you for letting Breha stay with you until I came. You didn’t need to do that.”

Ms. Williams glanced up, a hesitant smile twisting on her rosy lips. “It’s no problem—Breha is a delight.”

The girl turned bashful at the praise, ducking her head down. “Thanks Ms. Rey.” Remember her manners, she quickly shot up right and began introductions. “Ms. Rey this is my dad, Ben. And Dad this is, Ms. Rey.”

“Ah, the famous dad I’ve been hearing all about,” Ms. Williams teased holding her hand out.

“Only good things I hope,” he shook her hand, releasing quickly before his palms perspired, “though I do wonder how much you can know about me. It’s only been one day of classes.”

Ms. Williams chewed hard on her bottom lip, a flush coming to her cheeks and down her neck. “Miss Breha and I just clicked.”

“We did!” Breha added, a buzz to her. “We have _a lot_ in common!”

“That’s nice to hear,” Ben surmised. Breha had never been so enthusiastic about a teacher, the revelation a bit surprising. Though part of it made sense in a way; Ms. Williams was young and an appeared to have an artists spirit. Maybe his daughter saw a bit of who she wanted to be in the woman.

“Well, I hate to kick you two out, but I have a drive back home myself that’s a bit long.”

Catching Ms. Williams’ drift, Ben ushered Breha out of the classroom, the teacher not too far behind. She caught up to their stride, the three making their way out of the school in similar strides.

“Where do you live Ms. Rey?” Breha asked without missing a beat.

“ _Breha_ ,” Ben warned lightly. Leave it to his daughter to pry without thought.

“Oh it’s alright,” Ms. Williams waved off. “I live actually not that far from Ahch-To, in west Takodana.”

“That’s less than fifteen minutes away from Ahch-To,” Breha supplied, before frowning. “Then why don’t you visit the harbor more often, like you want to?”

“My family and friends live in Yavin,” Ms. Williams explained with little else. “There was no reason to go to Ahch-To.”

“But now you do.”

Ms. Williams had the decency to chuckle at the implication. “Maybe I do.” Upon arriving in the parking lot, Ms. Williams made way towards the back of the lot, where a few faculty cars were still parked. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Breha?”

“Yes! Bye!” The girl was quick to shout with a wave.

“And it was nice meeting you, Mr. Solo!” Ms. Williams added as an afterthought, before hurrying over to her car, full of an energy Ben wasn’t sure anyone in their right mind possessed.

“She seems nice,” Ben remarked, unlocking the car.

Breha beamed, climbing into the car. “She’s the best!”

“You’ve only known her a day,” he reminded his daughter, not wanting to her to get too attached to a teacher within the first days. All teachers seemed decent the first few days…until the real work kicked in and everyone despised them. “I’m sure your opinion will change soon enough.”

His daughter shook her head, buckling up. He followed suit, sticking the keys in the ignition after. “I don’t think so. I really think she’ll be the best forever.”

Ben’s eyebrows jumped, befuddled by Breha’s excitement. “Okay weirdo. Whatever you say.” Pulling out of the parking lot, he fiddled with the radio, playing the rock station on low. “But otherwise, how was your first day? You never replied to my text.”

“It was…” Breha stared out the window, chewing hard on her bottom lip and brows pinched together. Her ‘thinking’ face. “It was okay.” She shrugged. “I cried.”

“ _What_?” Ben blanched.

He knew this was a bad idea. Sending Breha to highly competitive arts school could have been the stupidest decision he ever made. His poor fragile girl was going to crumble under the pressure, absolute crumble.

“But it was okay—Ms. Rey says it’s normal to cry. That I shouldn’t feel ashamed.”

His swirl of panic halted—Breha wasn’t upset? Because of Ms. Williams?

“Really?” He uttered.

“She says she’s a crier too and that it’s just our body’s way of coping with emotions. People process emotions and situations in different ways and that’s just she and I do.”

Ben blinked dumbly. “Huh…that…that oddly makes sense.”

“That’s what I said!” A serene smile came across his daughter, she leaning back against the seat, relaxed. “I think I’ll be okay there, Dad.”

“I think so too, Bre.”

* * *

“Hey, BB!” Rey dropped her tote bag in favor of smothering kisses on her pooches face. “How’s my guy?”

He barked back happily, jumping back to let her stand up.

“Good—that’s what I like to hear.”

Picking up her tote bag, she set it on her entrance bench and hung her keys up. Kicking off her shoes, she stretched, muscles loosening.

With ease she moved through her cottage, flicking on lights and turning on the television.

She couldn’t stand the silence of her home, always needing background noise.

Opening the fridge, she set out chicken to thaw for dinner, along with some pasta and canned sauce. She always wanted to learn how to make her own, but she never found the time nor recipe that intrigued. And sometimes it was simply easier to make her comfort food with the canned stuff.

She fed her dog and gave him another belly rub before booting her personal laptop and opening her email and chats.

** Poe Dameron < poepoepoe@holo.com > **

**Subject: Dude, you cannot bail again…**

**_Hey remember, to email me back about the tickets. I just need a yes or no. I need to tell my buddy if he needs to get a babysitter…_ **

****

****

** Finn Samuels < finnsamuel@yaoa.edu > **

**Subject: SIGN-UP FOR THE FRIDAY STAFF POTLUCK**

**_I KNOW YOU CAN SEE THIS REY. AND YOU HAVENT SIGNED UP YET._ **

****

** Jannah Storm < eyeofthestorm@holo.com > **

**Subject: Cashing in a Favor**

****

**_Can you teach the Saturday Intro to Painting at the rec center next week? Our volunteer dropped it…_ **

****

** Amilyn Holdo < a.holdo@yavinartgallery.com > **

**Subject: Next Quarter’s Gallery**

**_For our next gallery opening, we are looking at the last weekend of November or the first weekend in December. Do you have a preference…_ **

** S  ** ** Palpatine < sheev.palpatine@firstorder.com > **

**Subject: (none)**

**_Rachel, stop ignoring my emails. I have an important matter to discuss with you._ **

****

Without batting an eye, she deleted the last email and marked his new email address as spam.

She didn’t need her grandfather rubbing his nose in her business again.

Closing her laptop, she made a mental note to reply to everyone before she went off to bed. She tucked her laptop back in her desk drawer, only to pause for a moment.

Taped at the bottom of the drawer, laminated to prevent wear and tear, an old photo of a newborn stared back at her.

No older than a few minutes, taken by the nurse at Rey’s begging.

It was a little blurry, Rey’s arms around the infant looking like blobs, but it was all she had to preserve the memory.

And that was enough for her.

She set her laptop down and closed the drawer without another look.

There was no good in dwelling on the past. Especially her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. Lots to think about!


	3. Throwing a Wolf Out into the Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of social anxiety
> 
> Enjoy :D

* * *

_**Throwing a Wolf Out into the Wild** _

* * *

“Why don’t I have a mommy?”

The question startled Ben. He accidentally spilling ‘tea’ (chocolate milk, the perfect choice to have with cookies, thank you very much) on his lap woke him out of his stupor.

Never did he think the words would tumble out of his four year old’s mouth. He thought, maybe this would be a conversation to have when Breha was older, able to comprehend how adoptions worked and families came in many different shapes and sizes.

His four year old with bright, innocent hazel eyes and perfectly braided pigtails asking him about her mommy over an afternoon tea party was not something he consider happening.

“Uh, everyone has a ‘mommy,’ Breha,” he hastily stated, drying off his pants with a napkin. There wasn’t a noticeable stain, the dark wash sweatpants masking the chocolate milk well. “They need a mommy in order to be conceived.”

Her brows furrowed and her bottom lip was chewed. “What’s con- _con_ -,” she struggled to form the word, face growing dark in frustration.

“ _Con-cei-ved_ ,” Ben repeated slowly. “It’s…well it is a term you really don’t need to worry about and Daddy shouldn’t have said it in the first place.” He sighed, exhausted. “But the main point is everyone needs a mommy and daddy to be born, but just because they need a mom and dad to be born doesn’t mean all families need or want a mom and dad. Sometimes there are two dads, or two moms. Or just a mom. Or just a dad, like us.”

“Oh,” Breha hummed. Her chin dropped in her open palm. “I get it.” Yet her brows furrowed and bottom lip was chewed, his little girl thinking hard again. “But where is _my_ mommy?”

“Uh…” Ben shifted over on the floor, pulling Breha into his lap rather than sitting across from her. He couldn’t be having ‘tea’ with her for this conversation, he needed to hold her like she was his baby. Because she was, even if she was growing rapidly and too fast for his liking. “Well…I don’t know because…well I don’t know her. I never got a chance to meet her.” That was the one thing he still badgered Kenobi about, years later. Who was Breha’s mother—he wanted to know for his daughter’s sake, yet both the mother and Kenobi insisted on anonymity. And who was he to deny or argue the right. “But I knew I wanted you.” She beamed at that, Ben making sure to use the word ‘adopted’ frequently enough for Breha to understand he chose her and wanted her and loved as his own. “The moment I held you in my arms I _knew_ you were my baby girl and nothing changes that.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Breha curled up on his lap, resting her head against his chest. Dark chestnut flyaways tickled under his chin, he brushing her hair back down. She relaxed at the touch, no longer bothered or thinking too hard. “Okay, Daddy.”

And it seemed like the matter was dropped for good.

Until a few days before Breha’s thirteen birthday.

His mother insisted on a large family gathering since he refused to throw a party for his daughter. Not necessarily by his choice, but by his daughter’s begging.

_“Please, I don’t want to have a party where I have to be nice to people who don’t give a damn about me,” she stressed when the idea was brought up in passing months before her birthday. “Plus, I don’t like how parties make me feel.”_

_“Me too, kiddo. Me too.”_

And so it was done with ease. No party and just them eating at Breha’s restaurant of choice for the big day…and the family and friends gathering at his parent’s house the weekend prior.

Which included more faces he’d like to forget than see again. Such as Uncle Luke who still refrained from apologizing over how he treated Ben when he lived with him during college and acted like the whole situation never happened in the first place. Then there was Uncle Lando who tried to give Breha a classic revolver for her birthday, an heirloom in his family, but one Ben would have to hide away in a safe due to his own anxieties. His godmother, Amilyn, had the compassion and smarts to gift his daughter with a new set of oil paints. The woman was a local gallery curator and kept a close eye on Breha’s progress, always encouraging the girl. A few other faces appeared at the dinner— specifically his Uncle Chewie’s girlfriend and family friend, Maz, who slipped Breha a couple of hundred dollar bills with a wink, his childhood friend Poe, who promised a ‘Poe & Bre Day’ in the near future, and his best friend Rose (and Breha’s godmother) gifting his daughter a new set of charcoal pencils.

But there was one face he didn’t expect—Old Ben Kenobi.

“She looks just like her,” he breathed when Ben gave him a hug. The old man’s eyes were locked on Breha, the girl listening obediently as his father and Lando attempted to tell the story of one of their multiple near arrests.

Ben didn’t need to ask who he was referring to. “I would imagine so.” He then attempted an ill venture. “And how is she?”

“You know the rules, Benjamin,” Old Ben warned. “I cannot say and you put me an uncomfortable spot with this. I wish I could tell you, but it is best to keep these matters confidential. _As the mother wishes_.”

“Didn’t hurt to try,” Ben quipped with a half shrug.

“No it didn’t, but you already knew the outcome. Some call that insanity; asking the same question over and over and expecting a different answer.”

“No, I just call it determination and persistence.”

Old Ben chuckled at that, much to Ben’s relief.

From across the living room Breha was able to weasel her way out of another story between Lando and Han, beelining to him with look of exhaustion in her eyes.

Social gathering always had a way of shutting her down.

“Ah, the birthday girl,” Old Ben greeted with a warm smile upon Breha’s arrival. “It is such an honor to finally meet you.”

Smiling pleasantly, Breha waved politely before thrusting out her hand for a shake. The old man’s lips twitched at the brash and clumsiness of it all, taking her hand for a gentle handshake.

“Breha, this is Benjamin Kenobi.” Ben rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder, feeling his daughter relax at the gesture. “He’s an old family friend, in fact he helped me adopt you. Hell, he helped with all the adoptions in this family,” he added with a chuckle.

It was no secret the Skywalker twins were separated at birth. His Uncle Luke was adopted by the Lars family and Leia by the Organa’s, both families friends and relations to the Skywalkers, both of whom desired to raise the twins. Kenobi, an adoption social worker at the time, found the compromise and aided in keeping the children in contact as they grew up.

He kept the Skywalkers together when all hope seemed lost, and they were forever grateful for his efforts.

“I remember when you were just a few days old,” Old Ben teased, his green eyes crinkling at the memory, “all wrinkly and small. A little too small in fact; born a couple of months too soon. You had to stay in the hospital a few days, but your dad here,” he motioned to Ben, “refused to leave your side. Stayed there until we were given the all clear.”

A gasp of wonder escaped Breha, she enraptured by the story.

Her head whipped to Ben. “You never told me I was preemie.”

“It never came up.” He didn’t like to think of the days he nearly lost Breha, only holding her in his arms for brief second before the nurse swept her away to put her in an incubator and attach tubes. A terrifying sight for any one; small and defenseless, yet needing to figure out how to survive, less than an hour in the world.

“But you are a fighter dear,” Old Ben hummed, a smile on his face, “just like this one here,” he waved to Ben like he was a picturesque painting in the conversation, “and your mother,” he added as an afterthought.

And that was when _it_ started.

“You knew my mom?” Breha breathed. A new found admiration for Kenobi shinnied in her eyes. “What was she like—what _is_ she like?”

Kenobi seemed to have noticed his slight mistake, clearly not expecting the girl to barrel right into the desperate questions.

“From what I recall…” he cleared his throat, sharing a nervous glance with Ben.

Ben who was also absurdly curious, but knew how to pick his battles, unlike his daughter.

“From what I recall, your mother was a clever and brilliant young woman. Knew how to fight and carry herself; she didn’t need anyone.”

A vague answer, but one that sent Breha soaring.

Seeing her so excited by the thought of her birth mother, Ben felt a piece of his heart ache.

Because Breha was _his_ , not this faceless woman’s.

“Enough of that,” Kenobi tutted, effectively ending the conversation before it could go anywhere else. He took Breha’s arm in his, “I need someone to show where the best snacks are and I have a feeling you know _exactly_ the one’s I like.” Without needing to be told twice, Breha led Kenobi over to the potluck table, he asking questions about her interests and hobbies, curious about the girl he placed in Ben’s care.

From that day on the occasional questions started.

“Do you think my mom has hazel eyes too? More green like mine or more brown?”

“I wonder if she likes art or sports more.” She’d muse when they’d sitting together watching a Premiere League soccer game, both wearing their Manchester United jerseys. His mom got them matching one’s for his birthday the previous year, taking a dozen pictures of the two wearing the shirts. “Because I like both. But maybe she likes one over the other.”

“I think my mom might be tall because I’m getting taller, but I hope she is not _too_ tall.”

And Ben would listen, patiently. Always patient.

Never remarking how each comment felt like another dagger in his chest, making him feel like he wasn’t enough, that he couldn’t provide enough for his daughter. How each question spiked his own curiosity and made him wish he could provide the answers to her questions…but also relieved he didn’t know the answer to his daughter’s anxious questions.

It was confusing and uncomfortable, but Ben did not want to diffuse his daughter’s concern and wonder.

He had to think of Breha, not himself.

And if she needed to get these questions and musing out of her system…then he’d listen and give the answers he knew.

* * *

Around week three, Breha had a routine.

Once she arrived at school, she’d head straight to homeroom, even if she happened to be a half hour early. Ms. Rey’s classroom would be open and she’d let students work on any assignments and projects before the class day, she also working on her own personal projects in her corner of the room. At most, ten students would always be in the room, using the time wisely to play catch up. Music would play from a boombox, usually some instrumental or orchestra music, nothing too hard or too soft. But enough to catch attention.

Breha took advantage of this free time.

She’d sit at her worktable, sketch pad and pencil in hand.

And she’d collect the similarities from afar.

The freckles, the eyes, the jaw.

Then she’d sketch some fantasy—where she is a little girl and her mother is there…and her father, too. They are all together. Like a little family.

When the bell rings, she’d tear out the page from her sketch pad and throw it away.

Each and every morning, the sketches tossed into the garbage. Because no one needed to know what she knew. Especially her father.

She’d then go through the day, through her classes acting like Ms. Rey was just her teacher. Her kind teacher, pushing away the urge to blurt out _“I’m your daughter!”_ in the middle of class or during their lunches together. Lunches where they’d sometimes talk, or not. Ms. Rey grading and Breha catching up on her reading or homework.

Ms. Rey never pushed her to try and eat in the cafeteria. There was an unspoken understanding there, she never prying but willing to listen when Breha was ready.

It sort of reminded Breha of her dad. He was same; too patient and face saying words he could never say.

And then she’d wait in Ms. Rey’s classroom for her dad to pick her up after school, because for some reason he was always running late, even when he calculated ways and times to get their sooner. Time and traffic just never seemed to be on his side.

Her teacher did not mind, chatting lightly with her about anything and everything.

Sometimes they talked about books—

“ _A Winkle in Time_ is my favorite,” Ms. Rey confessed a bit bashfully.

“I like it,” Breha shrugged. “But it’s one of my dad’s favorites. He’d read it to me all the time when I was little.”

Or movies—

“I love _The Godfather_ trilogy!”

Ms. Rey’s eyes widened. “You’ve seen _The Godfather_?”

“My dad and I watched them all this past summer. We watched a lot of movies—he claims I’m old enough to start being educated on the classics. He doesn’t want me to go out in the world being ‘pop culture ignorant’.”

Ms. Rey snorted, amused by the thought. “That is a smart man.”

“I can quote almost all of Michael’s lines word for word from the first one.”

“Alright, little Miss Al Pacino.”

And sometimes they just talked.

“Does your work go in gallery’s?” Breha leaned closer to the painting of poppies, a fun impressionist like still-life. It was still wet, would be for the rest of the day, but Breha could not help but observe the painstaking strokes.

“Sometimes,” Ms. Rey answered, tucking her tote back over her shoulder. “Sometimes they don’t. Just depends on the curator and pieces and theme—lots of factors.”

“What’s going to happen to this one?”

“Might sell it on my website, maybe keep it as an example for future classes,” she chewed on her bottom lip, humming to herself, “I’m not too sure yet.”

“It’s beautiful,” Breha breathed. “I think you should keep it.”

A sharp knock always interrupted their conversations, followed by a— _“Hey kiddo, let’s go!”_

Breha wasn’t too sure if her dad liked Ms. Rey. He always came in with urgency and curtness. Polite, but cautious of the woman.

Like he was with everyone, but there was more to it with Ms. Rey.

He always thanked Ms. Rey for letting her stick around until he came to pick her up, and addressed her as ‘Ms. Williams.’ Ms. Rey would then nod, her cheeks flushing before hurrying off to her car.

Each time. Without fail.

Her dad would frown in the direction Ms. Rey took off and then be grumpy for the rest of the drive home.

After the third week, Breha had enough.

“Why don’t you like Ms. Rey?”

“Who says I don’t like Ms. Rey?” Ben shot back, hands gripping the wheel tight.

“Your face,” Breha said with a shrug. She wasn’t lying; it was a fact. “She’s nice. You should try to be nice too, Dad.”

“I _am_ nice.” He bristled, keeping laser focus on the road rather than Breha. “What I don’t understand is why she seems to be the only person you talk about from school.” A jagged sigh escaped him, Ben slumping a little into his seat as they came into standstill afternoon traffic. “Kiddo, you only talk about Ms. Rey—and while I love that you have a teacher you love—you haven’t mentioned any classmates. And you have been there for almost a month.”

“I…” Breha huffed, bothered by the quick interrogation. “I…just like hanging out with Ms. Rey! She’s cool and nice and understands me!”

Her dad’s eyes shifted to her for a fleeting second, questioning and stunned by her outburst. “And your classmates don’t understand you? Who do you hang out with at lunch?”

Her face became hot, Breha shifting her body away from her dad. Instead of answering, she kept quiet and looked out the window.

“Bre—”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

“O-k,” he uttered out each syllable. “We won’t talk. In fact, I think we won’t talk at all for the rest of the drive or the afternoon…let’s just _not_ talk.”

Face pressed against the warm window glass, Breha rolled her eyes.

“No talking,” Ben repeated, stressing out each word. “None at all. Silent treatment on both ends! Let’s see how _that_ feels.”

Huffing under her breath, Breha closed her eyes and feigned sleeping.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he announced ten minutes later.

She ignored him. And ignored him for the rest of the day.

Much to both their annoyance.

* * *

Prep Period was what Rey liked to call the sacred hour.

An hour where there wasn’t any teenagers in her classroom, nor co-workers harping her to join them for lunch. She didn’t need to worry about her next project or anything outside of the classroom, her life outside of teaching feeling miles away.

All she needed to do was grade and finalize her lesson plans.

Alone time at its finest.

So when she received a phone call from the front office letting her know a parent had requested to speak with her during her prep period, Rey was more than a little stunned, if not on edge. Never during her four years of teaching at Yavin Academy of the Arts had she received such a request beyond the mandatory parent teacher conferences and the high school’s Open House events. Over the years she heard some parents could be detrimentally invested in their child’s education and social life, especially in the private school sector. Yet she never had any issues despite some of the horror stories she’d been told.

Against her better judgement she accepted and approved for the parent to stop by her classroom for a chat. In the waiting, she mentally prepared herself for an argument over something potentially petty or possibly a serious matter, knowing not all family lives were the same. Lord knows hers wasn’t a picturesque childhood no matter the image her grandfather liked to paint for the world.

However a familiar sharp knock at the door caused her to stop short.

“Mr. Solo?” Rey blurted out, surprised to see Breha’s father standing in her classroom doorway. He was tall and built man, consuming most of the doorway’s space with his impressive stature.

Nodding in acknowledgement, he let himself in, the door shutting behind him. “Uh, hello Ms. Williams.” He gave a half wave, taking long and quick strides over to her desk in the corner of the classroom.

“When they said a parent wanted to talk, I certainly didn’t expect you,” she said lightly, a tease to her voice. “We see each other nearly every day.”

“Yeah, that’s partially why I came right now, instead of later,” he explained, terse. Finding an empty chair off to the side, he pulled it over until he was sitting opposite her on the other side of the desk. He engulfed the space, seemingly too large for the standard classroom chair. Yet he attempted to appear casual despite how ridiculous he looked folded in on himself. “Because I am more than a little concerned for my daughter right now.”

A spike of fear stuck her; not for herself but for one of her favorite students. “Is everything okay with Breha?”

His brown eyes narrowed on her, perturbed by the question. “Why don’t _you_ answer that?”

She blinked, dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”

Mr. Solo sat forward, watching her with cool and calculated eyes. “Whenever my daughter talks about school she has only mentioned _you_ for the last month.” Her eyebrows jumped at the accusation, Mr. Solo no doubt cataloging the reaction. “Nothing about friends or peers or anyone who is pissing her off, because people generally have a tendency to piss off Breha. Just ‘Ms. Rey _this’_ and ‘Ms. Rey _that’_ and it concerns me.”

“Concerns you how?” she said carefully, unsure of where Mr. Solo was going with his implications.

He exhaled through his nose, leaning back in the too small chair. “That her only friend seems to be a teacher fifteen years older than her.”

“I see.”

“And…” He opened and closed his mouth a few times, a dance of hesitation in his eyes. “And I am not saying anything is your fault per say, but I know my daughter. And this isn’t normal behavior.”

“And what is normal behavior for Breha?”

An errant hand ran through his hair, dark locks flopping to the side in a lazy wave. Slivers of grey stands shined between the darker black hair under the natural light of the windows, a gorgeous, natural blend of the colors.

She had a fleeting desire to sketch him, paint him, create anything inspired by the man before her.

And she banished it away when she realized he was talking and she hadn’t heard a word that came out of his mouth.

“…or at least I figured she’d latch on to another loner. Not necessarily a teacher.”

Chewing on her bottom lips, Rey hummed, attempting to sum up an adequate response to what she _did_ hear in his explanation.

“What…what you are saying is Breha is not normally a social person?”

“Socially awkward,” Mr. Solo declared, blunt and to the point, “always has been. Has never liked parties, prefers to be alone, her ideal weekend is staying at home and painting and maybe hanging out with me. She has never really had a best friend. Never really wanted one, in fact.” The reality of his daughter’s lack of friendships disheartened the man, Rey feeling the swell of loneliness inside herself at the mere thought of his helplessness. “I thought maybe a new school would push her out of her comfort zone—maybe force her to make friends. Like survival instincts would kick in and the idea being in pack and find friends to be with would suddenly kick in for her.”

Rey snorted, slapping a hand over mouth a fraction too late.

Mr. Solo stopped, an eyebrow cocked in confusion.

Realizing she was caught red handed, she sheepishly dropped her hand back on her desk. “No offense Mr. Solo, but Breha is a teenage girl, not a wolf you are throwing out into the wild.”

His lips twitched. Crossing his arms over his wide chest, he regarded her levelly. “Ms. Williams have you ever raised a teenage girl?”

“No.”

“It is a lot like throwing a wolf out into the wild.” His head lulled forward, a small shake to the drop. “I guess what I am trying to say is…do me a favor and maybe don’t have her eat lunch in here every day? Maybe make it an every other day thing? Just so…just so she can _try_ to make friends?”

Biting her lips together, Rey refrained a snap response. Refrained from telling the man off for telling her what to do. Telling her how she conducted her lunches; she didn’t just leave the door open for Breha, for any other student who felt the need to sit in the classroom during their lunch period.

But this man, Mr. Solo, genuinely cared for his daughter. He came all this way to met with her to discuss the matter, even when it was out of his way. Breha was his main priority, and it was admirable.

And attractive…

But mostly admirable.

“Did Breha tell you what happened during lunch that first day of school?”

Mr. Solo shook his head. “No, she didn’t.”

“I found her sitting outside my classroom, crying,” Rey told him at point blank; there was no reason to beat around the bush. He needed to know. “I invited her inside and after some small talk she opened up. And…” She considered her words carefully, knowing any other parent would be offended if she wasn’t cautious, “…and she explained how she tried to go into the cafeteria and panicked. Palpitations, sweaty palms, trouble breathing…and I think, just based off of what she’s told me and what I know from my own experience, that maybe she might have _some_ social anxiety,” she winced out, hands clenched together.

Cracking open her eyes, she found Mr. Solo staring back at her, face masked in stillness

His shoulders dropped in a half shrug, a bit defeated but not lost. “I know.”

“I didn’t meant to imply you didn’t know—”

“No, no, no,” he waved her off, “it’s fine. I’m glad somebody else notices and it’s not just me with my own paranoia thinking she does.”

“I…” She then amended her words. “ _We_ can see about a referral to the school psychologist. Plenty of the kids here see her, especially the ones struggling to transition into high school or transferring from another school.”

He cringed at the suggestion. “I don’t want her to feel singled out…”

“It’s confidential,” she assured him. Grabbing her directory, she flicked through the laminated pages before finding the correct number and office. She wrote the information down on a green sticky-note. “You can talk to her, see what she suggests about the social anxiety…but I’m not going to refuse Breha if she comes to my classroom during lunch.”

He paused, hand out for the sticky-note. “Why—and forgive me for being so brash, but I need to understand—but why are you so interested in my daughter?”

The question startled her.

She never did stop and think what it was about Breha that caused Rey to gravitate towards her. At first it’d been fascinated by the girl’s art work, she on the board for that incoming year’s submissions. She vouched for the girl when some of her colleagues had already dropped the application. So maybe at first she felt a connection there—Breha was at Yavin because of Rey’s hard work and insistence. In a way she felt a piece of the girl belonged to her.

But then she met her, got to know her…and she knew it just wasn’t the girl’s talent.

“Because she reminds me of…well, me.”

A soft hum of understanding came from the back of his throat. “I see.”

“When I was fourteen…I was awkward. I didn’t fit in. I was the artsy girl who spent all her time in the art room because it was her safe place. My peers terrified me and it only got worse as I got older…” She shook her head, a flush of embarrassment dancing up her neck. “But when I saw her in the hall…I saw a flash of me—and I know what I would have done for my past self.”

Mr. Solo’s eyes softened to warm honey brown, the sternness of his brow and lips melting into merciful recognition. “You’d open the door and let the crying girl take refuge in your classroom.”

“Exactly.” She huffed a half laugh-half panicked wheeze, releasing her eyes from his. He saw too much in such a captivating hold. “But enough about my sob story—main point is Breha is always welcomed in my classroom.”

“Thank you,” he said in earnest. He cleared his throat, swallowing as he looked back down at the sticky-note in his hand. “For the information and I guess listening.”

“No problem.”

“And for caring about Breha,” he hurried out, the words tumbling over each other. “She doesn’t have many people she can talk to and sometimes spilling her guts out to her old man isn’t exactly always fun.”

“I feel like you are speaking for both parties in that case.” She could faintly imagine what it’d be like to raise a teenage girl as a single father, especially with a girl like Breha.

His eyes widened, nodding once. “You have no idea.”

With care he folded the sticky-note and tucked it into his hoodie pocket.

Her eyes slid over to the clock on the corner of her desk—she only have a few minutes left in her Prep Period. “Is there anything else your like to discuss or address…?”

“Uh, no,” he shook his head, checking the time on his watch. “Shit—I need to get going.” He stood up in a flash, nearly stumbling over his own two feet. For a man who moved through the room effortlessly and could seriously sit in a chair too small for him, he could not for the life of him make a clean exit. “Thank you again, Ms. Williams.”

“It was a pleasure,” she found herself stuttering out. “And you can call me ‘Rey’. ‘Ms. Williams’ sounds a bit too formal for my tastes.”

His lips did that twitch again—one where he contemplated the thought of a smile but suppressed it for reasons she could never comprehend. “You can call me ‘Ben’ then. Mr. Solo is a bit too formal for my tastes as well. My dad doesn’t even go by Mr. Solo.”

“Alright then, Ben.” She waved as he started to head to the classroom door, not caring if she felt a little girlish doing so. “I guess I will see you later, when you pick up Breha.”

“Yes!” He nodded, a little too enthusiastically. Her heart did a weird twist at the boyishness at his sudden surge of energy. “You will…and—and if you ever, um, find yourself in Ahch-To make sure to stop by Millennium Café. You can have a drink, on me.”

Her mind quickly went somewhere it shouldn’t have.

And apparently his did too, he stuttering to amend his statement. “I meant like on the house, not on me—” his eyes slammed shut, a mutter curse slipping through his twisted lips. “I mean I own the café and if you find yourself around you can get a free drink, on the house. That is what I meant.”

Rey swallowed a giggle, catching her breath. “Okay, that sounds lovely. I might have to take you up on that.”

“Right…uh—” He was right by the door now, hanging around for a moment longer before giving her another wave, “—have a good afternoon.”

He ducked out right after, Rey unable to wiggle in another ‘goodbye’ in the never ending series of ‘goodbyes.’

For the rest of the day, Rey could not stop smiling and her heart hummed a happy beat.

A first for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O M G 
> 
> REY CAUGHT THE FEELS FOR BEN. LIKE IMMEDIATELY. BAHAHAHA.
> 
> GOSH. IT'S SO CUTE.
> 
> And for those who may be wondering--Rey does NOT know Breha is adopted. All she knows is that it has always been Breha and Ben.
> 
> And to clarify things because I now realize my plot twists in the past have scarred my readers--
> 
> 1\. Ben is only Breha's ADOPTED father. He adopted her. He is NOT her biological father.
> 
> 2\. YES. Rey is Breha's BIOLOGICAL mother. She gave her up for adoption. It was for the most part, a closed adoption. This meaning Rey never met Ben and Ben never met Rey, all this done through an agency.


	4. A Dork Infatuated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typos will be fixed later!
> 
> Enjoy :D

* * *

_**A Dork Infatuated** _

* * *

“Look at you, all tall and professional. You aren’t the little grubby girl demanding for more crackers any more are you?” Ben Kenobi called out the moment he spotted her entering the Italian bistro. She’d just came from a friend’s afternoon gallery showing, looking more put together than usual; hair neat, make-up done, and a wearing flattering yet conservative navy blue dress.

“Granddad,” Rey said through a budging smile. Upon reaching their table, he pulled her into a warm hug. Warm cedar and eucalyptus invaded her nostrils, she feeling little again with her face pressed against his tweed jacket. For a moment she let herself be ten year old Rey, visiting her favorite Granddad over the summer and winter holidays. Being with the granddad who coined the moniker ‘Rey’ rather than the birth name ‘Rachel’ she detested.

The granddad who always made her feel safe and loved. Unlike…

“Now tell me all about your new classes and students,” her granddad ordered, releasing her from his hold. He pulled out her chair, she sitting down without a moment to spare. “Who is hellish, who came back for more, and who is your absolute favorite?” He sat down across from her, beginning to butter a pumpernickel bread for her and for himself.

She took the offered bread gratefully. “Um, Jason is still hell but he decided to come back for Drawing II and he has improved skill-wise so I guess I cannot complain.” Taking a bite of her bread she chewed thoughtfully, thinking over her roll call. “Too many came back for the second level classes and even my art history course, so I cannot possibly list them all.”

“That’s a good thing, a very good thing. That means students like you and are actually learning something!”

She chuckled, nodding along with his logic. “And then my favorite…well I don’t like having favorites.”

“I sense a ‘but’?”

“But…” she grinned through her wince, “…I do have a favorite. And she is…” Rey shook her head, “…she is _so much_ like me it is insane.”

A month into the school year and Rey found herself nearly calling a student a ‘friend’. The girl, with some nudging from the school psychologist and her father, ventured out at least two times a week for lunch in the cafeteria. Making friends was tough, but it was happening slowly but surely for the girl. But when she wasn’t attempting to be social, Breha was in Rey’s classroom, more often than not working on her piece for the upcoming Fall Art Show.

“Ah,” her granddad hummed, slathering more butter on to another piece of bread, “how so?”

“She just acts a lot like how I did at that age,” Rey confessed, “awkward, a bit silly, cares a little too much.”

“My dear, you are still awkward, a bit silly, and care a little too much,” he teased. “But there is nothing wrong with that and you are _more_ than that.”

“Thanks.” Her granddad always had the right words and knew how to lift her up even when she did not know she needed it. Meeting with him for their monthly dinners served as food for the soul, she and her granddad kindred spirits in every way. “But how about you—what’s up with you? Any _ladies_ I need to know about?”

He chortled, taking a sip from his glass of water after. “No ladies, but I have been setting up some new adoptions, many children finding their homes. And so that is always good.”

Her grin softened at the mention of adoption. As it always did.

“That’s good, I’m always happy to hear that.”

A waiter came to their table before her granddad could pick up the conversation. The two order their usuals, an Eggplant Parmigiana for her granddad and a Tortellini Alfredo for herself, the waiter taking off with a promise to refill their drinks.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Granddad Kenobi began, his demeanor serious for once, “she contacted me.”

“Who?” She shoved half a piece of bread in her mouth, smearing butter on the corner of her mouth.

“Your daughter.”

Rey stopped mid-chew.

_What the fuck?_

Her stomach lurched.

Yet she held back and swallowed the food in her mouth. The bread felt rough and too much, she fearing she’d choke if she didn’t calm herself down. So she inhaled deeply through her nose and powered on until she was positive there wasn’t any more left to consume.

“She wants to meet you,” her granddad continued, taking her silence in stride, “I told her I needed a parent’s consent and of course, your consent, Rey.”

Licking her lips, her hand gripped the edge of the table for dear life. “No— _what_?” She quickly did the math in her head, befuddled by this development. “She has to be what? _Fourteen_? That—that is a _no_. A hard ‘no’.”

A measured sigh left him, he facing her head on. “Rey—you don’t have to do anything right now. In fact, you can never do anything and no one will hold it against you. I am simply letting you know, your daughter wants to meet you.”

“But…” a shaky breath shuddered through her, the mere possibility sending her in a tizzy, “…but what if I don’t want to meet her? What if I never want to meet her?”

“Then you don’t have to.” His hand found hers. A light pressure and squeeze at the back of her hand did little to calm her. “You still hold cards in this situation. Your name and information is protected; we made sure of that. Just like you know nothing on their end.”

“Granddad, I teach fourteen year olds every day—I know how they think and function. Me coming into this girl’s life at this time—when high school sucks, people suck, and it feels like the world is against you?” The tell-tale prickle behind her eyes warned her of incoming tears, and Rey knew she could not fight them off. “That’s chaos waiting to happen. Plus she has a family—a good family. You’ve _always_ assured me of that. So please…just…just tell her it’s…it’s not a ‘never’, but it is a ‘not right now.’”

He patted her hand, a gesture of comfort and guilt. “Alright…but I must warn you, she is a determined one. I wouldn’t be surprised if any day now she ends up on your doorstep, demanding to speak with you.”

She bristled at the remark, yet her lips twitched at the thought. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not.”

* * *

They’d been moving out of Nana Leia’s and Papa Han’s when Breha found the papers.

It’d been the summer after her thirteenth birthday, Breha asked to empty the boxes and help organize while her dad had been at work. While ideally they be completing the move together in the span of a couple of weeks, it ended up being a several months long process with her dad busy with the café and she finishing off the school year. So the summer finally let them fully move into their new house, instead of living out of boxes and suitcases.

She’d just been asked to put all the files away in his office, making sure to keep the personal separated from the business. Which wasn’t too difficult considering her dad went a little too trigger happy with the label maker Nana Leia got him the previous Christmas.

But in her efforts to organize she stumbled upon one unlabeled folder.

The title ‘ _Breha Paperwork’_ was written in perfect print on the top of the folder. Seeing her name caused her to flip open the folder without second thought.

Only to stop the second she scanned over the first paper…

Because it was her official adoption forms and birth certificate.

Her dad’s information was on display, clear as day. The day he applied, his age at the time, and all other necessities required. Official signatures were at the bottom as well as the state seal of approval.

However, the second page was nearly all redacted. Blocked out in black. Every single mention of her birth mother was gone and redacted, never to be seen.

All except for one sliver of information. The signature lost in the middle of page. Loopy, lightly pressed, and almost illegible in the copy. Possibly forgotten in the chaos of legalities on the page.

_R. Palpatine_

* * *

Ben dabbled in art in high school.

Mostly stuck to calligraphy, but he did dabble in art as an extracurricular. For college sake.

He was never like Breha. Could not look at a canvas and create life.

No, his daughter had a gift and passion. One he willingly feed into for twelve years. Let her deep dive into it, paid for numerous classes, and had to tack on a list of art supplies when he went grocery shopping. He let her coop herself up in her room on weekends and stay up late to finish whatever piece she _absolutely needed_ to finish.

Was he spineless when against her? Maybe.

But growing up, all he wanted was his parents to be invested in his interests. To show they supported him, wanted him to explore what he loved, instead of awkwardly asking about it as small talk during the occasional family dinner.

So he tried his best. Learned about art, really _listened_ to Breha when she talked. He wanted to understand what Breha saw when she looked at the colors and the shapes and story.

But he also knew when enough was enough.

“Up, up, up, up.” He knocked repeatedly on her open bedroom door. “Rise and shine—”

“It’s six in the morning!”

“It’s actually _five-fifteen_ in the morning,” Ben corrected, ambling into the room. He flicked on her bedside lamp. A warm glow filled the dim room, the world still dark outside their home. “But nice guess.”

A loud, strangled huff came from the bed. The red Mandala comforter curled tighter, Breha hiding every inch of herself under the blanket. “Leave me alone!”

He reached over and yanked down the comforter, Breha bright head of turquoise locks staring back at him. His mother nearly passed out at the sight of her hair, muttering about how Grandma Breha would have _never_ allowed it. But Breha begged and paid with her own money, and it was already starting to fade…so it was too terrible. “Not happening, kiddo.”

“It’s a Saturday!”

“I still have work and need to open the café,” Ben reminded her, brushing her hair from her face. “And I want you to come with me.”

Another agonized groan came from the girl. She attempted to wiggle to the opposite side of the bed, but Ben tossed one of her many pillows at her. She stopped, huffing.

“I have _things_ to do!”

“Like what?” Ben shot back.

“Like…” Muffled muttering came from her. In a flash, the comforter was thrown off, the grumpy face of his daughter staring back at him. “I have projects to finish.”

“You can do them tomorrow.”

She crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest. “But I _want_ to do them today.”

Ben hummed, nodding with a solemn and sage air. “And I _want_ to sleep in at least once in my life, but we don’t get what we want, kiddo.”

Realizing she wasn’t going to win, Breha slumped further in bed. “When do I have to be ready by?”

“By five-thirty.” Ben checked the clock; she had roughly ten to fifteen minutes to get ready. He knew she was just going to crawl out of bed and throw on whatever was within arm’s reach. A poor skill she learned from him.

“ _Fine_.”

Within ten minutes both were ready for the day and sitting in the car. A woosh of heat came from the heaters, the old Falcon still giving it’s best despite the years. Soft oldies crooned from the radio, the familiar thrum of ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ filling the silence. Breha hummed along, not the most musically gift, but able to carry a half-hearted tune. He harmonized off key with her. The fog from the harbor billowed over the foothills, an eerier sight to any non-local, but just _home_ to the small Solo family.

Ben liked moments like this.

They made it into downtown with a few minutes to spare, Ben parking behind the storefront. Once inside he passed off the keys to Breha. “Go ahead and unlock the doors and put on the open sign.”

Body moving on autopilot, he flicked on lights and put the first batch of drip coffee to brew. Taking his time, he set up the register and booted up the card reader. The pastries made the day prior, by Rose of course, were still good in their frigerated glass case. There was no need to make a new batch when he was positive they’d end up with leftovers. He’d rather sell out than waste product. Off season was always tricky in the sleepy harbor town, summer and winter far busier than the fall and spring, tourist numbers fluctuating every few years. But there were regulars, those he could count on to stop by the daily and keep a steady flow of traffic in the café.

Saturday mornings were slow—unbelievably slow to the point his parents argued he should just open later—but Ben liked the routine, and more so he liked to keep his word. He was always open by six in the morning. Always—except Sundays, when they were closed with the rest of the shops and restaurants downtown.

From the front counter he saw Breha sit at the corner table, her sketch pad in hand. The sun had yet to greet them, but she was already wide awake, at attention to downtown waking up before her eyes. Her shoulder length hair was a mess, only half captured in a sloppy bun and her large sweater swallowed her, she looking more like a small child rather than a growing young lady in his eyes. If she were still upset about waking up early, he couldn’t tell.

Severing themselves both a cup of coffee—hers with less cream and sugar than his, Ben made his way over to Breha’s table. Gently, he set her mug down and sat down across from her.

Her eyes lifted a fraction, eyeing the coffee warily. Yet she grasped it a second later and took a sip.

Satisfied, Ben followed suit, gazing out into empty downtown.

“Why’d I have to come? Saturdays are slow; you don’t need help,” Breha asked quietly, still put out.

He supposed he was wrong about her not being bothered.

“Maybe I you need to get out of the house,” he said with a shrug. “Or maybe I want to hang out.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We always hang out.”

“Maybe…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Both of his previous statements were true. He _did_ want her to get out, he _did_ want to hang out.

But he also didn’t want to be at the café alone.

He was always there alone in the mornings, and while it was great sometimes…

It was also _not_ great.

“I don’t know.” He settled on saying.

Breha didn’t comment on the vague answer. She looked back out the window.

Tarmac ground glistened, wet from the late night rain and morning fog. Lampposts shined warm, subdued golden hues across the dull grey. Shops were closed throughout the street, the glare of their windows peeking through the fog. An almost mystic sight if not for the blare of ship horns from the harbor.

“I always wanted to paint this view,” Breha confessed, chin propped in her palm. “But I don’t think I can do it justice.”

“You never know if you don’t try.”

Breha harrumphed, chewing hard on her bottom lip. She had a habit of getting quiet when he made a point she could not argue.

Silently the father and daughter drank their coffee, the time ticking through the hour. Ben mused in the silence, mentally making lists of what needed to be done around the house and making note to double check the supply room, while Breha continued to sketch, keeping the page securely tilted towards her. She was private with her work, only letting eyes see when she deemed the person or the work worthy.

Just as Ben got up to take their empty mugs to the back, the door chime rattled.

“Uh— _hi_.” Stepping into the café a little after seven-thirty in the morning was Rey, much to both Ben and Breha’s surprise. She wasn’t in her usual spunky art teacher attire, full of fun tea length skirts and bright t-shirts. Instead, she was dressed in a wool forest-green sweater and comfortable mom-jeans. Brown framed glasses sat on her face, making her look older—possibly more her age. Even her bright sneakers were traded in for a more muted black pair. “I decided to cash in that free coffee.”

“At seven-thirty in the morning?” Ben could not help but ask.

She shrugged, a flush smattering her cheeks. “I…ran out of coffee and just noticed it when I wanted to make some. I was already awake. Plus your website says you are open…”

“We are,” he blurted out, “open that is.” Desperate to not sound well… _desperate_ Ben jutted his thumb behind him. “I’ll just get that for you—” He began to turn away before facing her once more. “Here or to-go?”

She glanced around the café, brightening when she saw Breha in her corner. “Here is good.”

“Great…” he breathed, forcing himself away. “Then I’ll just get that for you.”

“Thank you, Ben.”

She grinned at him that grin that just looked _so much_ like Breha’s it made his head hurt and heart confused, and went over to the corner table.

* * *

From behind her sketch book, Breha’s eyes widened in horror at the exchange.

What the hell was wrong with her dad?

And when did Ms. Rey…look like that? All starry eyed and almost giddy talking to her dad.

Last time Breha checked, those two barely spoke a word to each other besides merger small talk. But now—

“Just a warning, it’s hot—”

“It’s okay, I like my coffee how I like my men.”

“Oh really now?”

“Yes, tall, dark, and hot,” Ms. Rey confessed through a wheeze of self-deprecating laughter.

“That is reassuring then.”

_Oh dear god._

What in god’s good name was Breha witnessing?

Her dad was trying to flirt…and Ms. Rey was trying to flirt back.

Lifting her head from her sketch pad, Breha wasn’t too sure if she wanted to sink into a hole and die or continue to watch odd scene before her eyes.

Sitting side by side were Ben and Rey, glancing back at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Yet when they did catch each other’s eye, small smiles and chuckles would wiggle their way out from the two. As though they were playing their own unspoken game of cat and mouse.

_What the hell?_

After a minute of their nonsense, Breha cleared her throat. “I didn’t think you’d actually make it to Ahch-To Ms. Rey.”

“I didn’t either,” her dad quickly interjected before schooling himself. He sat back in his seat, no longer sitting forward and mooning over the woman. His eyes darted to Breha, he then sitting even further in on himself, keeping an appropriate distance between himself and Ms. Rey—as though just remembering his daughter was in the room, across from them.

“Well, I had a free morning and no—no _ya know_ , coffee at my house. Though a nice little morning drive would be good.” Her explanation was haste but seemingly earnest, hazel eyes jumping between the father and daughter. “I am surprised to see you _both_ here though. You never mentioned you came with your dad on the weekends, Bre.”

Breha’s stubborn frown returned, a light glare directed at her father. “I usually don’t. But he decided to drag me out here.”

“I wanted you to get out of the house,” her dad corrected. “She always spends her weekends locked up in her room, painting. I thought a little time outside of her four walls would do some good.”

“Of course!” Ms. Rey agreed, her gaze for once all together leaving Ben’s and focusing solely on Breha. “You know Breha, an artist cannot be cooped up all the time. Life and the world must inspire us, we have to live life in order to create our art.”

“That… is…honestly inspiring,” Ben breathed, in awe of Rey’s words. “Such a wonderful way to put it.”

Breha wanted the ground to consume her.

Her dad was a dork infatuated. And it was unbearable to witness.

“I—I’m just speaking from my own experience.” Rey ducked her head down, tucking a hair behind her ear. She peeked back up at him, eyes giving that starry look again. “I find myself inspired when I go out and do things, even if is just going for a walk around the neighborhood or even just getting a cup of coffee at new place. Like here.” She took another sip of her coffee. “I must say this is some of the best coffee I’ve had in a long time. Where do you get your beans?”

Ben perked up at the question, shifting closer to Rey. “Oh, I have this great vendor…”

And the two talked.

And talked.

And _talked_.

When Ben had to get up and refill their coffee ( _twice_ , Breha would like to stress) Rey followed him, keeping the conversation going. Usually her dad would snap if any one non-family or staff walked behind the counter, but not a word was said to Rey. Instead he motioned her to follow when she hesitated a moment, which then led to a tour of the café.

“The calligraphy on the menu is lovely.”

“I actually did that.”

“No way! You’re shitting me.”

“Yup, all me.” Her dad had the audacity to act bashful. Fucking _bashful_. “I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. A hobby I’ve kept up all these years.”

“I see where Breha gets her talent from then.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t be that generous.”

“Stop being so humble. You might be the humblest man I have ever met it is nauseating.”

“Hopefully not _too_ nauseating.”

“Oh definitely not.”

When a fleeting customer came in, a regular as always, her dad called for her.

“Bre, can you help them please? Thanks, kiddo.”

And Rey and Ben’s conversation picked back up right where it left off without missing a beat.

“It must be nice,” Maz cooed when Breha handed her usual coffee that was more cream than the actual dark beverage, “to see your dad with a lady friend. He hasn’t seemed interested in anyone since that one woman—what was her name?”

“Katherine Bazine,” Breha answered, knowing the story well.

“Ah, yes. Never liked her,” Maz tutted. “But that one,” she nodded to Rey, whose head was thrown back in laughter, “I feel there is something special with that one. Like she belongs.”

Breha held back a comment—like the fact this was the first time her father and Rey were talking outside of picking her up from school—and just smiled politely when Maz left a large tip as she left the café.

“Oh, shoot. I’m sorry to cut this short, but I need to get going.” Rey stood up from her chair, Ben standing in tandem with her. “I am teaching an art class at the Takodana Rec Center at noon, and it’s at least a thirty minute drive from here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ben assured her. “It was just nice that you stopped by.”

“I’ll have to stop by more often.”

“What course are you teaching?” He asked as they both, incredibly slowly, took their mugs to the sink in the back.

“Painting for Beginners for ages five to ten,” she gave a tiny wince, “which has more students than any one thought we’d get, so it’s a bit of a handful. Rambunctious takes a whole new meaning with that group.”

“Sounds like you need an extra set of hands.”

“I do.” There wasn’t a joke to a statement, Rey being honest. As they came back to the front of the café, Breha felt their eyes land on her. A small gasp came from Rey, she turning to Ben in urgency. “Actually I _can_ use help—I can use Breha’s help.”

The girl’s head snapped up from her rather blanket sketch pad. “What?”

“Breha, do want to help me with a beginners painting class?” Rey glanced back at Ben. “If that’s alright with you of course.”

“Yes, yes of course that’s alright,” Ben said, not bothering to check in Breha, who continued to watch the entire exchange with various degrees of second-hand embarrassment. “In fact, you can take her for the entire afternoon and when you bring her back, you can maybe—if you want—have dinner with us?”

Rey softened at the offer, all urgency melting away from her as her eyes met his. “I’d love that.”

And they stood there like that—just staring deeply into each other’s eyes.

Breha roughly cleared her throat, catching their attention, their locked eyes breaking away. “You said the class starts at noon? Well it’s already eleven-fifteen.”

“Shit—right, we need to go.” Rey waved Breha over, the girl collecting her bag on the way. “I guess we’ll see you later then, Ben.”

“Yes, yes you will,” he assured her. Before Breha could duck away, Ben pulled her to his side and pressed a quick kiss to the crown of her head. “Be good kiddo and help out.”

“Will do,” she muttered, wiggling out of his grasp. “Don’t miss us too much.”

“Impossible.” He ruffled her hair. “Have fun, you two.”

With a couple of more hasty goodbyes, Breha and Rey left the café and made their way over to the car parked further down the street. Walking beside her, their strides almost matching, Breha could not help but feel she stepped into a moment of ‘what if.’

Or better yet a moment of ‘what could be.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to those who guessed Kenobi was Rey's OTHER grandfather! We'll get into more of that next chapter ;)
> 
> And looks like there was a slip up with the paperwork and that is how our Breha started her hunt!
> 
> Rey and Ben--still dorks and I am sorry for the terrible flirting. BUT DID YOU EXPECT OTHERWISE?
> 
> We will pick up where we left off in the next chapter :D


	5. Maybe the Impossible was Probable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typos will be fixed later :D
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

_**Maybe the Impossible was Probable** _

* * *

“Please remember to pick up your finished pieces with Miss Breha in the back!” Rey called out as kids rushed around to gather their things, their parents arriving to pick them up. “Because as much as I love your artwork, I cannot take it home with me! I have no room in my living room.”

Giggles from the kids chorused in the room, many starting to filter out as the minutes waned on.

“Rey, thank you so much for letting Mauve tag along with her big brother today,” Jessiak Pava, one of the regular parents at the center said, her two kids showing off their work to each other. “I know she doesn’t quite reach the age requirement but she was starting to get jealous brother got paint and she didn’t.”

“No problem,” Rey assured her, chuckling a little at the squabbling siblings. “I had an extra set of hands helping today so another kid in the mix was no biggy.”

“I saw that.” Jessica glanced over to where Breha handed out a glittery poster paper. “I didn’t know you have daughter.”

Rey’s heart leapt to her throat. “Excuse me?”

“Isn’t Breha your daughter?” Jessika realizing her mistake made quick to amend. “I’m sorry—I just assumed. You two look so much alike, it was like seeing double for a moment.”

“Uh,” Rey shook her head, smiling in relief, “no. No, Breha is not my daughter. She’s a student at Yavin. I asked her to come along to help today.”

“That’s sweet. It’s always nice to see student helping the next generation.”

“Exactly.”

Once all the art work was collected and children were picked up by their parents, Rey and Breha set out to clean up the room before the next event, a Senior’s Crocheting class.

“I didn’t think I’d like it, but it was actually fun,” Breha admitted as she tore off the taped down butcher paper from the tables. “Kids aren’t terrible.”

“Nope,” Rey chuckled, “they are not as frightening as they seem. Especially when they have something to preoccupy them.”

Tossing the butcher paper away in the large trash bin, Breha moved on to pack up the clean brushes and tempera paint with Rey. “How long have you been teaching this class?”

“This is the first time I am teaching it in years. I use to teach a bunch of different art classes here when I was in college. Kept me busy and helped build my resume.” She glanced at the tables, recalling how each was filled to the brim that afternoon. “But it was never this popular. I am still stunned I get nearly thirty kids every weekend.”

“I…can help you, if you want.” Breha’s suggestion surprised Rey, she only expecting the gir’d help to be a one time occasion. “I don’t have anything on the weekends, and like you said it helps build a resume.” She shrugged, ducking her head down closer to her chest. “And I like it enough.”

Rey smirked at the girl’s attempt at nonchalance. “I like that. Let’s see what your dad says, yeah?”

“He’ll agree,” Breha declared. “I don’t have any doubts about that.”

* * *

Ben went into a panic.

He somehow invited his daughter’s teacher, who also to happen be a woman he could say with his full chest he _adored_ , over for dinner.

A dinner he was apparently going to prepare.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—slow down,” Rose ordered, holding her hands up. “What do you mean you invited a woman over for dinner?”

“I mean, _I invited a woman over for dinner_.”

“With Breha there?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because I think I might really like her and she likes Breha—”

“Why does she like Breha?”

“Because she’s Breha’s teacher!”

Rose’s jaw dropped, eyes wide with delighted disbelief. “Oh my god, you have a date with your daughter’s teacher?”

“It’s not a date!” Ben cried out, running his hands through his hair. “It is dinner, with her and my daughter—not a date!”

“So this,” Rose motioned to all of him, “this is what I miss when I don’t work mornings? You hook-up with your daughter’s teacher?”

“It’s not a hook-up!”

“Ben’s finally getting some?” Another voice called out, the chime of the café door ringing.

Ben wanted to evaporate into thin air at the sound of Poe Dameron.

“No, I’m not,” he shot back. He turned to Rose. “And I just told you this because I don’t know what to make for dinner.”

“Wait—you want to actually _cook_?” Rose blanched. “Like on a stove? With fire and pans?”

“Yes, why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because for liking cooking, you are shit at it,” Poe declared, butting into the conversation. Rose swatted at him, face pinched. “What? Someone had to tell him. It’s called being a friend, Rose.”

“I know I am shit at it,” Ben hissed, “that is why I am asking for help.”

“Just do us all a favor and call take-out,” Rose insisted. “Order Chinese! You can never go wrong with Chinese.”

“Yeah, don’t torture Bre and your new lady with burnt pasta,” Poe added.

“You need to understand Ben,” Rose rested a hand on his shoulder, solemn, “whatever recipe I do give you, you will fuck it up. Like you do. _Every time_.”

From the other side of the counter, Poe nodded, taking a bite of an impulse-buy biscotti. “She has a point.”

Rose’s eyes snapped to him. “Why are you here? You are not helping—at all.”

“To get coffee.” Poe crossed his arms, giving them a stubborn pout. “And…Ben still hasn’t RSVPed for my birthday party.”

“I’m not going.” With that, Ben left the front counter and went to make a fresh batch of coffee for the afternoon crowd.

“No! You cannot do this again, Solo!” Poe race behind the counter, ignoring the cries of protest from Rose. “You did this last month for the concert I got group tickets for—”

“Because you said your other friend bailed again and you’d rather sale the tickets as a pair,” Ben remained him. He poured the beans into a grinder and capped it.

Poe groaned, clutching his chest as though wounded. “Yes—that did happen. But that was within reason! But you also bailed on Fourth of July—”

“Because I was out of town.”

“Not the point.” Poe shoved an accusatory finger at Ben. “You have a tendency to bail! And I am not having this happen for my fortieth!”

“You mean the party where everyone is at least ten years younger than you and think it is your thirtieth?” Ben deadpanned.

In the last five years, Ben hung out with Poe and his ‘friends’ once.

New Years Eve 2015.

He didn’t want to go, preferring to spend his New Year’s Eve as he always had—making snack food, staying up late watching the specials on TV, and play board games with Breha. Sometimes she’d fall asleep before the ball dropped, sometimes she didn’t, but he’d always pressed a firm kiss to her forehead.

And Ben was happy with that New Year’s Eve tradition.

Except his parents caught wind of Poe’s party and insisted Ben ‘live for once,’ and they’d watch Breha for the night.

So he went.

And hated every second.

The house was filled with young twenty somethings, loud music, and the stench of cheap beer. He knew Poe had gone back to school to get his Master’s (any one who knew Poe was _still_ , years later, stunned by that development) but he didn’t expect him to follow the partying crowd.

But then again this was Poe, and he following the partying crowd wasn’t _that_ farfetched.

Overwhelmed and uncomfortable, he hid in the kitchen the entire night, drinking the only decent bottle of wine he could find and waited until an adequate amount of time passed where he could just walk back home to let the buzz wear off.

What made matters worse was Poe claimed there was a woman he wanted to set him up with. A woman he claimed would be ‘the one.’

Ben rolled his eyes at the idea.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a smidge of hope. So he waited until half past eleven, then walked home. Luckily he made it in time to press a kiss to Breha’s forehead in time for the ball drop.

Poe glared up at him, quaking. “You are an asshole, Solo.”

“I know I am.”

“If that is the case…” Poe became serious, more serious than he’d ever been, “…then I am cashing my favor for all those times I was your last minute babysitter.”

“That’s a bullshit move.”

“But one I am making!”

“I found good Chinese place for you and your dinner!” Rose chimed in, shoving Poe away. She shoved the sticky-note with the number at Ben. “And this is a strictly employees only area, thank you very much Dameron.”

“Thank you, Rose,” Ben muttered, pocketing the number. He’d definitely be using the restaurant if it was Rose Tico approved; that woman knew all the best places to eat.

With more aggression than necessary, he turned on the grinder, drowning out the sounds of Poe and Rose’s bickering.

* * *

“Are you sure it is okay we are here before your dad?” Rey asked for the third time as she pulled into the driveway. The simple one story house on the outskirts of town, along the hill side of Ahch-To rather than oceanside. To be perfectly honest, Rey did not know where she expected the Solos to live, but nestled in the forest with deer walking about less then ten feet away wasn’t it.

“Yes, I already texted him. He said he should be over with the food in few minutes.” Breha was already climbing out of the car, digging for her keys. Once finding them, she motioned for Rey to follow, a tad impatient with her hesitance. Dark blue double doors were unlocked, Breha allowing Rey to enter first. “Welcome to the Solo House, please kick off your shoes by the door. My dad has a thing about dirt.”

Rey toed off her shoes by the door, following Breha’s lead and tucking them in the alcove by the entrance. She set her tote bag on the entryway bench under the coat rack as Breha made quick to flick on the lights in the house.

“The kitchen is to the right and the living room is straight ahead. If you have to use the restroom it’s the second door to the left,” Breha rattled off as she went straight to the kitchen. A muted blue covered the walls into the living room, subdue and earthy tones carried throughout the house. Pictures lined the wall opposite the coat rack, all of Breha and Ben, what Rey assumed was their family. A couple of various birthday’s—a four year old Breha blowing out the candles, a younger Ben crouched behind her, grinning. Another with the girl smiling brightly in Christmas pajama’s holding a partially torn apart present. A picture or two with an older couple, Rey seeing the resemblance between the two and Ben, undoubtedly his parents.

But none in Breha.

If she wanted to be generous, she could say maybe she had more of her grandmother’s features but even then…there seemed to not be an ounce of Ben in her.

Perhaps she had more of her nonexistent mother in her.

Rey’s eyes traveled from the family photo to a smaller one, tucked into the corner of the collaged, framed arrangement. Older but clear of Ben holding a tiny infant in his arms…

“Do you want anything to drink? We don’t have any soda or anything—my dad hates the stuff,” Breha called out, the sound of cabinets opening and closing rattling through the house, “but we have apple juice, water, and some iced tea.”

“Water is good.” Rey stepped away from the photo, yet it was ingrained in her mind.

The sound of a car coming into the driveway alerted Rey, the engine and car door slamming moments later. Staring at the wall of photos she attempted to appear nonchalant, examining the photos with vague interest rather than with curious intent.

Ben came barreling through the door, one arm laden with plastic bags of take-out and the other reaching to close the door behind him. “I’m home!”

“Do you need help?” Rey came over, taking one of bags before he gave her a definitive answer.

“Thanks,” he breathed, a smile ghosting over his lips. He kicked off his shoes, shoving them in the corner with Breha’s and Rey’s. “Sorry I got here later. I would have been here sooner but I had to close up for the afternoon and then pick up the food—”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything.” Rey peeked into the bag, the aroma of steamed broccoli, mushroom, and gravy wafting. “Chinese? I love it—I’ve been in the mood for some for days.”

“Me too,” he confessed, a bit relieved. “It’s not always on the take-out rotation for us.”

She grinned sheepishly, her nose wrinkling. “Not much of cook?”

“I try, but I don’t think you want me cooking for you ever.” The cringe on his face made her heart constrict in mirthful misery. “But I can provide some wonderful take-out.”

“When it comes to food I am not too difficult to please.”

“I heard Dad come, but I don’t see any fo-od!” Breha sang out, putting Ben and Rey back into motion, instead of chatting listlessly by the entrance.

Together they went to the kitchen, Breha already laying out three plates and napkins on the kitchen island.

“Hey kiddo, why don’t we set everything out on the dining table instead of the breakfast bar?” Ben motioned behind them to the classic, dark wood table situated between the living room and kitchen

Breha paused, her eyebrows jumping up. “But we never eat there. I thought you just got that table to shut Nana Leia up about—”

“Well, we’re going to eat there today.” Ben beelined to the table before his daughter could argue otherwise, Rey quickly following after. “Make sure to grab serving spoons too, Bre!”

A undiscernible grumble was heard from the kitchen, followed by the sound of drawers opening and closing. She came out moments later with the cutlery and plates, the three working together to set out the food and serve themselves. Somehow in the chaos of passing boxes and plates, Rey found herself sitting beside Breha and Ben opposite them. Ben was quick to place layers of paper napkins on his lap, Breha rolling her eyes at the gesture. Apparently, she wasn’t joking when she claimed her father liked to keep certain aspects of his life neat and clean—like clothes and eating.

Digging into her food with reckless abandoned, Breha broke the silent barrier that had unknowingly emerged, and began retelling that afternoons events to Ben with rich, very _Breha-like_ commentary.

“…And I told this little girl glitter is not food, but she insisted she needed her insides to shine—”

“Why didn’t you tell me one of kids was trying to eat the glitter?” Rey asked, covering her mouth half a second later as she realized she was talking with her mouth full.

“Because I handled it,” Breha shrugged, “I told her she was already shiny on the inside and so her putting glitter inside her would counter act it and make her _not_ shiny on the inside.”

“That is smart,” Ben praised with a chuckle of his own, “I didn’t think you’d have it in you to help kids.”

An offended gasp came from the girl. “You didn’t believe in me?”

“I didn’t say that, Bre. Just that I didn’t think you’d actually like kids.” He confessed, shrugging a bit as he shoveled more food into his mouth. “I was never a big fan of kids.”

“But you have a kid,” Breha reminded his stoutly.

He pointed his fork at her, the orange chicken glistening under the light. “Yeah, but you’re my kid, so it’s _different_.”

Breha’s bright eyes then snapped to Rey, twinkling with curiosity. “Rey, do you like kids?”

“I adore kids,” Rey answered, without needing to think on the matter. “I’ve always loved kids. The imaginations, the stories they can tell…childhood is sacred and it’s our job to indulge them in their fantasies.”

Breha’s grin faded a fraction before coming back with full force. “So do you want kids?”

“Breha,” Ben scolded, his warm eyes widening at the bluntness of the question, “you can’t ask someone that—”

“It’s an innocent question, Dad!”

“It’s alright,” Rey insisted, despite the lump forming in her throat. She never really thought about having children after…well after the one. And even then she wasn’t sure if the one even counted in the scheme of having children in the future. “Maybe? I don’t know. I like kids, but I’ll let life decided if I become a mother.”

“That’s usually how it goes,” Ben quipped, soft. “I mean, Breha was a surprise. But one I took in stride.”

Said girl rolled her eyes. “He’s making it sound like I was a surprise pregnancy—is wasn’t. I was adopted.”

Rey mind blanked for a fraction of a second.

_Breha was adopted._

“Oh,” was all she uttered after what felt like an eternity passed.

In reality it was only a few seconds, but enough for Breha to eye her curiously.

“That’s amazing,” she then said, gathering her senses. “I’ve always had a soft spot for adoption. My grandfather owns an agency, has been making families for over sixty years. That’s extremely admirable of you.”

The tips of Ben’s ears flushed red, he clearing his throat. “Uh, thank you. That…that means a lot.”

* * *

The rest of dinner went without hiccup or awkwardness, the terrible flirting and jokes taking full form as the afternoon transitioned into evening. Once dinner was done, Breha made effort to show Rey some of her personal pieces she had stashed away in her room. Various colorful canvases and muslin artwork was tucked away in the girl’s room, her work never ending as she produced piece after piece.

“These are all wonderful Breha, you should really consider entering these in competitions.”

“Nah, I’m not sure if they are good enough for that.” The started to put them away, all carefully covered and place back into her closet.

“Take it from someone who entered a competition at sixteen with little experience and still won—anything is possible and art is subjective. Anyone has a shot.”

“But you’re you and I’m me,” the girl huffed, her back turned to Rey as she painstakingly organized her work once more.

A frown twitched on Rey’s lips, she disappointed Breha thought so little of her capabilities. “That means nothing, Bre.”

The girl grunted, keeping her back to Rey. Too stubborn to take a compliment.

It was like looking in a mirror. She’d been the same at Breha’s age, too hard on herself about her work, but also too ambitious for her own good. The struggle to be the best, yet also feel worthy of her accomplishments and skill.

Hopefully Breha would learn sooner to embrace herself, unlike Rey who took years to get to such a place in her life. And even then she sometimes felt she was on shaky ground.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Rey picked up a turned over canvas Breha left leaning against her bedside table. Flipping if over, she was greeted by a silhouette of a mother and child, a purplish-blue galaxy contained within the lines of their embrace.

Incomplete…only half the mother outlined…as though not there at all in comparison to the child fully lined in dark midnight blue.

Her heart weighed heavy at the sight.

“Breha,” Rey breathed, “this is beautiful.”

“Oh—that— _that’s not done_!” She cried out, rushing over to Rey. She grasped the canvas, taking it away with little to no effort. The piece was placed back into the corner it came from, away from any prying eyes. “I’m still working on it—you shouldn’t have seen it.”

“Alright then,” Rey held her hands up in defense, the urge to cry over the painting waning away, “I understand. But I’d love to see the finished product one day.”

The flash of panic in Breha melted away, she quieter and softer than Rey had ever seen her. “Maybe one day you will.”

* * *

Ben walked her to her car, even after she insisted she would be fine.

“I am still a gentleman under all this,” he gesture to himself in a lousy manner. “Please?”

“Fine,” Rey replied with a good natured eyeroll. Brisk autumn chill tickled them as they stepped outside, she hugging herself as they walked the few short steps to her car. “Thank you for dinner and for letting Breha tag along this afternoon.”

“Thank you for stopping by this morning and taking Breha with you this afternoon,” Ben countered.

Upon reaching the driver’s side door, they stopped, facing each other. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. Like some bashful boy at the end of a date.

Her heart fluttered at the innocence of it all.

“I had a—”

“I’m sorry—”

They both stopped talking, half chuckles sputtered out at their silliness.

“You first,” Rey ordered, “because you started with ‘I’m sorry’ and I have no idea what you want to apologize for. Because—well because you’ve been perfect.”

“‘Prefect’?” Ben wheezed out. “I am _far_ from perfect.”

“Then perfect in my eyes—since ya know, eye of the beholder and all.”

“Right,” his lips quirked to the side, amusement in his honey brown eyes. “I’m sorry about what Breha brought up, the kids thing. Sometimes she doesn’t understand somethings are best not asked and I could tell that the question made you uncomfortable. And I never want you to feel uncomfortable around me—well, us.”

Her head ducked down. Chewing on her bottom lip, she peeked up at him, eyes squinting. “You noticed that?”

“Yeah…” He dragged out, low. “I know kids are tough subject for anyone—hell, even I clam up if someone asks me if I’m just going to have Breha and not another.”

“I…” Rey exhaled, feel the sudden urge to be truthful for once. To open up. “I…had a kid once. A long time ago. But it wasn’t a good situation. I was young—far too young and I had to make some tough choices.”

“I see,” he murmured, shifting closer than he had been before.

She sniffled, blaming it on the cold and not the slew of old emotions stirring in her chest. “And so I put them up for adoption. Because it was what was best for everyone involved.” A stray tear trickled from her eyes, she catching it with her finger under her eye. “And so yeah, sometimes I think maybe I do want kids in the future but…” she shook her head, “I guess I sometimes still have this guilt—this unnecessary guilt about it.”

He watched her carefully, aware of her state and aware of the weight of her words. “Has anyone ever told you, they are proud of what you did?”

“What?” She blinked blearily up at him. “What do you mean?”

Ben swallowed, pressing his lips together. “Or that you are brave to do what you did? Because I could never imagine doing something like that.”

“I…” she opened and closed her mouth, a shaky breath coming out. “Only one person besides myself knows. I never told anyone else. Until now.”

His face smoothed at the revelation. “ _Oh_.”

No confusion, anger, nor shame.

Just tall, gentle, and understanding.

A shaky, forced laugh bounced out of her, Rey peering up him hoping she didn’t just kill the one good thing she had going for her. “You make me do some strange things, Ben Solo. Like confessing my deep secrets.”

“Maybe you need someone to confess them to,” he told her bluntly, eyes boring into hers, “and maybe I’m just the right guy for that job.” He then snorted, face crumpling. “And you make do strange things too, Rey Williams. Like say cheesy things I have never thought of saying ever in my life.”

“It’s okay. I am rather fond of cheese.”

* * *

When she got home, Rey dumped her bag at the bench and turned on the television, the volume low. She fed BB a bit extra as an apology for being gone for the majority of the day and gave him a good belly rub.

The kettle was put on and her favorite mug—a simple grey rounded mug she made herself during a potty class ages ago— was set out for her late night tea. She ignored the full bag of coffee grains staring back at her when she plucked out an English Breakfast tea bag from the cabinet.

Water boiling, she left for her desk. She opened the drawer and retrieved her laptop, booting it up and checking her emails.

** Poe Dameron < poepoepoe@holo.com > **

**Subject: You haven’t RSVPed for my birthday yet!!!**

**_I just need a word answer Rey! Hell, you can just send back an emoji to this email and I’ll take it. I AM EVEN PAYING FOR THE MEAL. That should be incentive! YOU LOVE FREE FOOD._ **

****

****

** Finn Samuels < finnsamuel@yaoa.edu > **

**Subject: SIGN-UP FOR THE FRIDAY STAFF POTLUCK**

**_I am going to just permanently put you down for plates and forks because YOU ARE BEING A FUDDY-DUDDY REY. AND EVERYONE IS GOING TO GET PISSED AT ME BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW PLATES AND FORKS ARENT REAL POTLUCK ITEMS!!_ **

****

** Jannah Storm < eyeofthestorm@holo.com > **

**Subject: Beginners Painting Teaching Aid?**

****

**_I got your text about adding on one of your students as help for the class. I know you didn’t ask but I am seeing about maybe getting this girl some college or internship credits for it. Might be able to help her in the long run. I’ll get back to you with more details…_ **

****

** Amilyn Holdo < a.holdo@yavinartgallery.com > **

**Subject: Next Quarter’s Gallery; Who Is On Your List?**

**_You have a max of ten invites to the gallery, or more if you need them. You know I am willing to make anything work for you. And I really hope you do invite some friends—some of your pieces are just stunning and deserved to be shared outside our donors. Just let me know the names to put on the list…_ **

** S.Palpatine < sheev.palp@em-pire.com > **

**Subject: (none)**

**_Rachel, this is urgent. It is concerning my will. I have made changes in light of some news…_ **

She frowned at the last email, dropping it in the trash and marking his new email address as spam. Again.

Going through the list, she emailed Poe a thumbs up emoji, ignored Finn’s passive aggressive email, thanked Jannah profusely, and asked Amilyn for another week before giving her final numbers. Once all was sent and done, she closed her laptop and opened her drawer once more, knowing the low boiling kettle to whistle soon.

As she was about to place her laptop back in, she paused.

She set her laptop back down and retrieved her phone from her pocket. Swiping it open, she tapped on her gallery app, clicking on the first image listed.

Shakily she set her phone down beside the picture taped to the bottom of her drawer.

Side by side, Rey stared at the pictures.

Hers of the infant in her arms, the only clear part of the otherwise blurry photo.

And his—a snapped picture of the photo on Ben’s wall, of him holding an infant Breha. One she took as she made her exit before anyone could notice.

Same hospital issued blanket from Takodana General Hospital.

Same pink and yellow striped beanie nestled on her head.

Same nose and pursed little lips.

The kettle whistled.

Yet Rey remained seated, chewing hard on her bottom lip.

Staring at the photos, side by side.

Because maybe…just _maybe_ the impossible was probable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN, DUN, DUNNNNNNNNNN.


	6. A Perfect Leaping Off Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Dubious Consent, Teen Pregnancy, and Emotional/Manipulative Abuse are present/mentioned in this chapter. MIND THE TAGS.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later!

* * *

_**A Perfect Leaping Off Point** _

* * *

Rey printed out the photo.

For the first time since she bought her desk ten years ago, she removed her photo from the bottom of her drawer.

Flat on her dining room table, she kept them side by side for the rest of the weekend.

And she stared.

Made coffee and stared at it in silence. Looked for any subtle difference because the babies in the photos looked identical. Exceptionally identical, to the point it made Rey’s head spin.

_It was impossible_ —she had to remind herself over and over how impossible the frivolous idea happened to be. She couldn’t let her imagination run wild with the mere idea; these were serious matters.

All newborns looked the same. In all actuality it wasn’t too far-fetched Breha was born at the same hospital. It _was_ the largest hospital in the county with OBGYN services. Plenty of children were born there every day, at every hour, at every minute.

Her baby and Breha were just one of the many.

But then the more she looked…the more she _thought_. Her mind started to make connections, connections she was positive weren’t even there. Before she could let her mind spiral over the possibilities, Rey pulled out a notepad. She needed to think clear and put what she knew down on paper; first and foremost laying down the facts.

Her baby was a girl.

Breha was a girl.

Her baby would be fourteen years old.

Breha was fourteen years old.

Her baby girl was adopted.

Breha was adopted.

And those were the only _facts_ Rey had at her disposal.

There were however little details…ones that circled her mind in an up speed current.

Like the fact Breha reminded Rey so much of herself. From how she carried herself, to her little habits like chewing on her bottom lip or eyebrows bunching together and pouting when frustrated.

Or how several people claimed Breha looked just like her. Not just Jessika Pava.

But Finn and few other faculty members as well.

_“It’s like looking at a mini-you,”_ he joked once, having the girl in his Algebra class. _“I cannot tell you how many times I’ve nearly called her ‘Rey’ in class.”_

Or how Principal Phasma needed to double check if Breha was related to Rey, assuming the girl to be her cousin or younger sibling when battled with the sight of her. “ _To keep scores and grades fair, of course. Don’t want any nepotism.”_

Then there was _Ben_ —

When he came to pick up his daughter Rey would sometimes catch Ben staring between her and Breha, befuddled for a moment—as though seeing the similarities and allowing himself to believe for a fleeting second that maybe, _just maybe_ —before ultimately shaking it off.

Needless to say, others could see a resemblance between the two.

But surely there were plenty of brown haired women with her complexion and eyes roaming the Earth. All of the similarities between herself and Breha could all be a coincidence.

Or it could be the absolute opposite, all similarities pointing towards Breha being…

All signs pointed to Breha being her daughter.

Rey banished the thought, not wanting to get her hopes up too high.

Yet it came to forefront of her thoughts, closer and closer, every time she tried to shove the idea away.

Because if Breha was her daughter…well, Rey wasn’t too sure how she felt on the matter.

* * *

Breha searched for an _R. Palpatine_ online.

Only to find a Sheev Palpatine instead.

A retired military general who worked as an ambassador in the U.S. for years, eventually becoming a citizen. He was well decorated and leant his services to the government, often moving around due to his job.

He had one child. No name was mentioned. Only that said child passed away some time in his adulthood. No mention of an _R. Palpatine_ anywhere.

Frustrated with her meager findings, Breha turned to the library, using one of the article search engines to hopefully find more information.

And she did—though she wasn’t too sure if made her feel any better.

She found the birth announcement of one Rachel Elizabeth Palpatine back in May 1990. She was born to Margret Kenobi and Evan Palpatine, both holding dual citizenship to the U.S. and the U.K.

Less than four year later, there was another news article—

Margert and Evan Palpatine were deceased. Intoxication while driving.

Rachel wasn’t with them—in fact she was already placed under custody of Sheev Palpatine before the events. One line summed it up, almost as an afterthought to the horror.

After the two initial larger articles, mention of a Rachel Palpatine went to the wayside, always mentioned in association with Sheeve Palpatine when he received some achievement, once again always an afterthought.

A few brief mentions of her were scattered throughout different art sections in various counties. A young artist gaining recognition for her work.

However what Breha stumbled upon next startled her to her core—

_Missing: Rachel Elizabeth Palpatine_

_Age: 15 y/o Height: 5’7’’ Eye Color: Hazel Hair Color: Brown_

A picture accompanied the information, a young girl smiling. Though the expression did not meet her eyes, a forced cheerfulness to the photo.

But she looked like _her_. Eyes, hair, chin, and smile. She looked like Rachel. And that was enough to keep Breha going.

The missing person’s case was dropped six months later.

The name _Rachel Elizabeth Palpatine_ was never seen again after an emancipation case, followed by a name change—

However, a _Rey K. Williams_ does appear.

A local artist who looked exactly like _Rachel Elizabeth Palpatine_.

An artists who won numerous art competitions at a young age, attended University of Takodana on an impressive art scholarship with a B.A. in Studio Art and Art History, and obtained an MFA in Restorative Art in Ireland. She started several workshops and art classes in different states and counties, she laying the foundations for fine arts and studio arts education programs. A portion of her gallery earnings also went in donation towards different schools and arts programs, the woman constantly giving back whenever she could.

_Rey K. Williams_ was a tender hearted badass in the art world. Seemingly a nobody who made a name for herself through her hard work and determination.

Nothing like _Rachel Elizabeth Palpatine_ who lived in the shadow of her military decorated grandfather. A girl who was always an afterthought in the scheme of her own life.

There was no doubt in Breha’s mind _Rey_ and _Rachel_ were one and the same.

Just emancipation and a name change setting them apart.

Diligent, Breha recorded the information in her journal, not wanting to have too much a paper trail for her dad to find. She did however print out one vital piece of information.

The online broacher for Yavin Academy of the Arts. The high school where Rey K. Williams taught at through the months of August to May.

A perfect leaping off point.

* * *

On Monday Rey found herself sitting in her parked car far longer than necessary.

Students were beginning to be dropped off for the school day, though there wasn’t a crowd by any means. No rush. Just walking up the steps and into the two story building.

Despite having papers to grade on the significance of the Impressionist Movement for her Contemporary Art History class, Rey found herself rooted in her seat. Car off. Simply watching as students came on campus.

Giving their parents an awkward side hug in the car before leaping out.

Quick kisses pressed to cheeks in haste. As though not wanting to be seen.

Some just leaving with a wave, and others not making a gesture at all.

Just leaving without an inkling of goodbye.

A familiar, 1977 Toyota Land Cruiser came into view, the olive green of the car hard to miss. Typically not a car she’d imagine a man like Ben Solo to own, but that Saturday opened her eyes.

He was a sentimental man. The car belonging to his dad, one of his first in his car collection, and then passed down to Ben on the promise to maintain it. And he did, even though he hated the ‘hunk of junk’ seventy-five percent of the time.

From her spot, Rey saw Breha begin to climb out of the car only to stop a second later. Ben’s mouth was moving, the girl huffing. She then climbed out, waving goodbye with a small smile.

Ben sat there, watching as Breha climbed up the steps of the school and into the building.

For an instant Rey let herself imagine…

That she was the one dropping her daughter off at school, seeing her hurry off to get inside. That she was the one telling Breha to make sure to grab her lunch or fix her hair. The one waking her in the morning and rushing her out the door so they’d get to the school with time to spare. The two singing off-key to the morning radio, purposely singing the wrong words just to get under Breha’s skin.

Blinking her eyes open, Rey felt the prick of tear behind her eyes.

With crystal clarity, she realized she felt nothing.

Shaky hands she typed out a email on her phone, asking for a substitute for the day.

She pulled out of the parking lot and left.

Drove until she felt the need to stop.

* * *

Yes, she had a rebellious streak at the tender age of fourteen.

She would stay up late, sneaking into parties of names and faces she didn’t know. Stand on the outside, observing the chaos with an ill stomach and luring curiosity. She’d watch as teenagers got high, drank until they pissed, or passed out on the couch or in one of the rooms in which ever house they happened to be.

She never did anything, but she liked to watch as some strange form of torture.

Fading into a background was skill she acquired at a young age, suddenly becoming handy in her teens. Who would have thought.

At school she’d keep her head down, stayed in the art room. Sketched and painted until her hands went numb and cramped.

Kept her mind locked on the fantasies she created on the page and canvas. It was easier than hearing her grandfather berate her—

“ _Art isn’t a real vocation, Rachel_.”

“ _Why aren’t you more involved? Why not student council, or academic decathlon? Something with substance to get you into a good school_.”

“ _Rachel, you could be someone who mattered if you didn’t hide. If you didn’t wear those sloppy clothes. People would finally look at you and not be disgusted.”_

When he’d get particularly annoyed with her, he’d come into her room without her knowledge and take away all the sketch books and art pieces she’d been working on.

He’d throw them away. Burn them.

Forced her to watch.

“ _This is what happens to art one way or another. You must learn this now before you let this little hobby get out of hand_.”

He’d then change her class scheduleto where she was taking a foreign language or extracurricular math class instead of art.

But then they’d move again and she’d get that mandatory art class slid right in before he could say anything…

An on-going cycle until she learned how to manipulate it.

Hiding her work under the floorboards. Stashing her allowance in hollow books. Folding her paints and brushes into her clothes and keeping them tucked securely in her drawer.

Always carrying her sketchbooks with her. Always.

In the span of a two years, they moved five time. Two on Grandfather Palpatine’s whim, the other three due to his work.

He promised, an empty promise, that they’d stay in Jakku, Arizona until at least the end of the year. Or possibly for the next two years. If he felt like it was a good fit.

They were only there for a month.

And he broke the news the day of her fifteenth birthday—a birthday which he forgot.

So she ran. She ran to the closest party she heard about through the grapevine at school and did what she never did before.

She drank, she smoked, she lost her mind in the haze of wanting to forget.

And when a guy told she looked pretty, she kissed him.

And then did some more. Hands groping and tugging on clothes, she pulling him into a dark room where it could just be them. Not until mid-act did she realize what she encouraged— a blurry face she could barely make-out in the dark, hiding in the crook of her neck as he thrusted inside her like she was nothing and everything.

She cried.

Because this was not how she wanted it to go. Never in a million years.

Once he was done, he kissed her again, like he meant it, and left his number, mentioning how he’d like to see her again sometime.

Without looking at him, she cleaned herself up, pulled back on her pants, and left.

She chucked his number in the garbage on the way out.

Grandfather Palpatine had them driving out of Jakku, Arizona by seven-thirty the next morning.

* * *

Upon arriving home, Rey kicked off her shoes and went straight to bed. Curled up under the covers and forced herself to sleep. Sleep to forget the grudge of old memories stirring up in her. Ones that threatened to boil over the entire weekend, but did not do so until she saw Breha that morning.

BB hopped onto the bed once his confusion of her presence wore off, curling up at her side like a personal heating pad.

She didn’t moved for a good hour, eyes closed but sleep refusing to greet her at mid-morning.

A ping for her phone roused her from her poor attempts of slumber.

Another ping sounded soon after. Then another.

Rey frowned at her phone; she was never this popular. Most friends choose to ignore her during the day, or contact her via email considering the majority was preoccupied with students.

Swiping the screen open, three unread text messages from an unknown number glared dully back at her.

** (Unknown) **

**Heard you were out sick.**

**The Chinese didn’t kill your stomach right?**

A half snort came from the back of her throat, Rey confused yet amused.

** (Unknown) **

**This is Ben by the way. Ben Solo.**

**Breha’s dad.**

****

****

** (Unknown) **

**I realize I probably should have started with that.**

**_ Rey _ **

**_No it wasn’t the Chinese. I can assure you._ **

****

****

**_ Rey _ **

**_Though I am curious how you got this number._ **

****

****

** (Unknown) **

**I have my ways.**

** (Unknown) **

**You put it on the syllabus.**

**_ Rey _ **

**_Ah, yes._ **

**_I forgot I did that. Usually I just put that there for emergencies._ **

****

** (Unknown) **

**Yeah it says that.**

**_ Rey _ **

**_And your emergency is…?_ **

****

****

** (Unknown) **

**My daughter’s favorite teacher,**

**who I am starting to consider a dear friend, is out sick.**

** (Unknown) **

**That is the emergency.**

**_ Rey _ **

**_Ah, I see._ **

****

** (Unknown) **

**Was that too strong?**

**_ Rey _ **

**_I think it was strong enough_ ** **_😉_ **

****

****

** (Unknown) **

**The café’s lunch special today is homestyle chicken noodle soup.**

**If you want, I can drop it off to you or you can stop by.**

** (Unknown) **

**And I promise I didn’t make it!**

**A highly skilled chef did.**

A smile budged at the corners of her mouth. While their flirting was terrible, to the point both were highly aware, there was just so much heart for him.

Rey didn’t know what to do, never encountering a man who simply wanted to spend time with her and get to know her for the sake of just wanting to know. No hidden agenda, and earnest in every way.

**_ Rey _ **

**_I’ll be there in twenty._ **

* * *

“Is it safe to assume you aren’t contagious sick?” Ben asked the moment she sat down at the corner table. “Because I do have a kid to think about.”

“It is safe to assume I am not contagious sick,” Rey assured him, a bit sheepish. “It was more of an emergency mental health day. Not that I usually take those—I promise I am diligent and dedicated teacher. This is a once in a blue moon kind of event.”

His chuckle soothed her worries. “I figured as much.” He set the bowl of soup in front of her, a slice of baguette tucked to the corner of the pate. “At least chicken noddle cures all illnesses and fatigues, so we got that going for us.”

“Thank you.” She peeked back up at him, seeing him hovering, deciding on whether or not to stay or let her be. Glancing around she noticed there were only a couple of patrons, along with two other employees behind the counter. Half past one and most of the lunch crowd had died down. “You can join me, if you want? I can use the company.”

“Uh, sure, let me just grab a quick drink and uh, yeah.” He nodded taking off behind the counter.

Less than a minute he came back with a cup of coffee and sans apron, and sat across from her. For a moment they sat in companionable silence, each enjoying their own food and beverage. Not needing the fill the space with needless words.

Yet she felt his curious eyes linger on her every so often.

“I’m not going to talk about what is bothering me if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“No, no,” Ben shook his head, “but if you do…?”

“No,” she said with a smirk. “I am curious though—for someone who is not good at cooking and seems to only be capable of making a decent cup of coffee, how did you end up owning a café? You never did mention it in your grand tour the other day.”

He noticed her quick deflection, but indulged her.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was an accountant ten years ago? For Snoke & Associates?”

Her eyebrows jumped. “You mean the firm with all those laundering allegations in Yavin?”

He cringed. “Yes, _that_ one. I got out while I still could, before anything terrible could happen on my end,” he was quick to defend. “If anything I was a glorified lacky, who got paid nicely but worked horrendous hours. To the point I only saw Breha at night, to tuck her in for bed.” A haunted shadow cast over his face, he sighed tiredly. “It was too much and not worth it. So I quit without a backup plan.”

“That’s stupid,” she blurted out. She _lived_ on back-up plans. Each situation had an a, b, or c back-up plan, Rey able to come up with various scenarios to situations if she let herself dwell long enough. Back up plans were how she was able to survive in life.

“Tell me about it.” He took a sup of his coffee, relaxing a bit as he consumed the warm drink. “So I packed up Breha and I and left Yavin to come back to Ahch-To, moved in with my parents. Reconnected with some old friends and whatnot, which was nice. It was nice to be in a community again rather than the city.” Looking at him, with his flannel and jeans and goatee coming in, she couldn’t imagine him in a stuffy suit in a corporate office. It just didn’t fit. “I worked at the local tax aid company for about a year until my friend Rose decided to quit her day job and insisted I help her start her own café.”

“Let me guess, she dragged you along so you could handle the money and the books?”

“Yup,” he nodded once, smiling over his mug. “And that’s all I did in the beginning. But then she need help as we got busier, so I learned a thing or two and suddenly I now co-own this place and I have as much investment in it as her.”

“I think that’s awesome,” Rey said between bites of bread. “You found something you love in a place you didn’t expect, that should be celebrated. Not everyone gets that kind of luck.”

Ben shrugged, not entirely impressed with himself. “I guess you can call it ‘luck’. I call it ‘fate’ or ‘destiny;’ not everything goes the way you think, but ends up working out and figuring itself out for the better. Rose could have never opened up this place and kept it afloat if it wasn’t for my help and knowledge in accounting and business.” His face scrunched up, almost in disbelief over his own words, yet he continued to ramble, explaining himself until he understood what he was saying. Rey was growing to realize this happened to be a habit of Ben’s—his mouth running fast than his thoughts and emotions. “But I couldn’t have helped her if we _didn’t_ reconnect, or if I _didn’t_ move back, or if I never quit my accounting job. Things just work out because the universe just has a way of fixing it and fitting things where they belong even if it doesn’t make sense at the time.”

“I…don’t believe in ‘fate.’”

Her confession was quiet, just loud enough to be heard across the table, but clear.

“Or ‘destiny,’” she tacked on when the silence spanned a second too long for her liking.

“And whys that?” Ben asked—not accusatory, but in still curiosity. Attempting to understand even when he obviously disagreed.

A sour laugh bubbled out of her, sad and tired. “Call it a shitty childhood, lack of happiness, and exceptional loneliness—I can go on. Art was the only thing that kept me afloat since forever.”

“I had a feeling that was the case.”

“Why’d you say that?” Rey leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest. A sense of guard threatened to rise up in her, this man seeing her through walls she carefully built around herself. But she couldn’t place all the blame on Ben; he had a way with her. A way no one else had. A terrifying yet oddly comforting realization.

“Takes one to know one.” Ben peered out the window, cars passing through downtown a slow speeds, taking their time in the lane. “I was neglected for a lot of my childhood. Taken care of by nannies while my mom worked on her political career and my dad was being a hotshot racecar driver—”

“That sounds like something from a bad novel—”

Ben snorted, eyes trained on near empty mug in his hand. “But it’s the truth. I was passed around from nanny to nanny, and the only time I saw my parents was when I did something ‘bad’—like breaking a window or some shit.”

Her eyes widened jaw dropping. “You broke a window?”

“I was ten and it was with an aluminum baseball bat I found in the garage.”

“Ah, I see.”

Running a hand through his peppered hair, he hunched in on himself. “One too many mishaps and I was sent to boarding school. My parents visited a total of two times and the second one was because I was expelled for punching another student and breaking a window—”

“I’m sensing a trend here,” she quipped, “do you have a thing against windows?”

“Yes,” Ben sputtered out between self-deprecating chuckles, “and anger management issues. So I was sent to therapy, got a little better and finished out my last two years of high school here in Ahch-To while staying with my godmother.”

Her initial standoff diminished at the mention of another relative. “Still no parents?”

He shook his head, sitting back against the chair. Old pain laid on him, snug and ill-fitting. Like an old t-shirt from his youth. “No. They honestly didn’t get their shit together until Breha came along.” The words were cold and detached, dissociation laced within each. An attempt to let go despite the childish need to hold on.

Rey tensed at the girl’s name. “And…and why did you adopt Breha?”

A lazy hand wiped across his face, the hurt dripping off at the gesture. Calmness settled over him. “My fiancée and I at the time didn’t want biological children. She especially didn’t want biological children—she was a dancer and it would hinder her career. But I wanted a family—I knew early on I wanted kids, and since I had the better job and the apartment was under my name, we decided that I should just file for adoption by myself. We thought it would take years…didn’t matter if I knew the agency well. We thought we had time…” He blinked slowly, as though reliving the moment in his mind.

“How long did it take?”

“Less than two months.”

Rey recalled making her decision, hiding her pregnancy as best she could the first couple of months before taking off. A few trains rides later and she found herself on Granddad Kenobi’s doorstep. He made sure she went to the doctor, got her check-ups, and told her he knew the perfect person to adopt her baby. Assured her repeatedly.

Odd to think the perfect person was at the time a twenty-five year old man, still trying to figure out life and love after experiencing so much neglect in his own life.

“And what happened to your fiancée?”

“Katherine panicked and got cold feet. Told me she didn’t want to be a mother.” He did not seemed bothered by this information, possibly expecting it from the woman. “She wanted me to withdraw my application and I refused because even though Breha wasn’t born yet, I _knew_ she was mine. And so many applicants don’t get their kids that fast…or at all. It was a sign—and fuck, I never believed in signs until that moment—and I took it.”

Rey hadn’t realized she was crying until Ben passed her a napkin.

“Fuck, sorry,” she muttered, dabbing under her eyes, “I’m a bit of a crier.”

“So I’ve heard.” She heard the smirk in his voice. “Breha’s the same; I’ve learned to always carry about tissues or napkins.”

The little fact made her smile.

“You’re a good man, Ben Solo.”

A flush brushed the tips of his ears. “I’m honestly not.”

“The humbleness strikes again!” Rey cheered, crumpling the soiled napkin in her hand. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” he began, feigning nonchalance, “stopping by on Saturday mornings for coffee? Maybe sometimes sans Breha?”

“I think I’d like that a lot.”

* * *

When Breha ambled into her class the next morning, Rey allowed herself to look at her.

Really look at her.

How she walked taller than her five-foot-four stature, yet carried a bit too much of the world on her shoulders.

How her hazel eyes were a bit more green than brown, a pleasant surprise when making eye contact.

How her chestnut hair began to peek through at the roots, her turquoise hair fading into a softer blue. She’d need to dye her hair again soon.

How she chewed on her bottom lip as she stared down at her sketch pad, thinking hard.

Then she saw the other similarities of someone else.

How Breha ran a hand through her hair, or hunched in on herself when trying to get comfortable. The jiggle of a nervous leg and the hugging of her thermos mug close to her chest. The subconscious sever intensity of her focus and movements, as though there was no other option but to be intense in all aspects of life.

Just like her dad—just like Ben.

Ben might not have been Breha’s biological father, but Breha was every bit his daughter.

“You okay, Ms. Rey?” the girl asked, noticing her staring.

Briefly startled, Rey hummed in acknowledgement. A gentle smile twitched on her lips.

“Yeah, Breha. I’m just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A LOT WAS REVEALED IN THIS CHAPTER. DAMN.
> 
> Rey still doesn't know for sure if Breha is her daughter, but she is realizing it is obvious.


	7. The Art of Being Single

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO.
> 
> So I thought this would be two chapters, but I made it work into one. Which is a good thing storyline wise for this fic!
> 
> Also, the ten chapters is just a guess...this fic can (and probably will) be longer.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

_**The Art of Being Single** _

* * *

The last time Ben went on a ‘real date’—one that involved dinner, chatting, maybe some activity, and then a kiss goodnight with a promise to keep in contact—he was thirty-two.

Naturally, the date was set up by Poe. She was a friend of a friend of a friend. Like all the dates Poe tried to set him up on. While he did date around after Breha got a little older, nothing clicked or went beyond a night together.

But Kaydel was nice enough. She didn’t mind he had a kid and understood him wanting to keep her at a distance from Breha. When plans were canceled, she never once complained. And when important dates were forgotten in the chaos of his life, like her birthday or a some office party she needed to go to, Kaydel didn’t get upset. Due to this nature of forgiveness or simply not caring in their relationship, she became someone he dated for a few of months before she told him the one thing that would plague all his efforts in dating forever—

_“Have you ever considered you might be emotionally stinted or unavailable?”_

There wasn’t an ounce of harshness or cruelty in the statement. Just genuine curiosity.

(Ben was pretty sure Kaydel would never hurt a fly, not once seeing her fly off the handle.)

_“Because you are great dad, a great son, and a great entrepreneur…but you are not a good boyfriend in the slightest.”_

He recalled gapping and blinking, unable to form the words to speak.

Because yes, he supposed there was a piece of him that happened to be emotionally stinted or unavailable. He never had the best role models for loving and caring relationship despite his parent’s best efforts and the one woman who would marry him got cold feet at the thought of having children and left him.

So yes. There was a part of him that was _maybe_ emotionally compromised in some way.

_“You do know you don’t have to be in a relationship right? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”_

Needless to say, she broke up with him.

And Ben took her parting words to heart.

He didn’t date. He didn’t seek love nor did he yearn for affection.

Miraculously, he was okay being alone. For the most part.

Mostly because he kept himself busy.

His days were spent at the café, crunching numbers and helping customers. His afternoons were usually filled with shuttling Breha where she needed to go, or with his parents, helping them fix the Wi-Fi again because someone kept unplugging the tangling the cords of the router. Or help with whatever else was needed around the house. Because despite it all, he wanted a relationship with his parents, and wanted to maintain it even if it meant helping with the odd jobs around the house.

He never left an opportunity for his mind to wander…to think fleetingly at the couples who’d come into the café. Or the parents with their kids—mother, father, and child—a little family.

Breha, work, and his parents were his priority. Always his focus.

Ben was okay with this status in his life.

Until Rey Williams.

A young woman who had a far too bright smile and perceptive eyes. His daughter’s teacher who genuinely cared about Breha and all her students, who wanted the best for the kids inside and outside of school.

A woman who understood him better than anyone else, and laughed at his cheesy jokes and deadpanned humor. A woman who could dish out cruel sarcasm with a smile budging with every word. A woman’s who’s gaze mirrored his own hurt, a reflection of pain only a kindred spirit would comprehend.

Normally, he’d let the feelings pass. Swallow down the little crush. Work away the fleeting lust.

But she was different.

Because Ben wanted to know Rey.

Know her hopes and dreams; her fears and regrets; vices and virtues. If she was a morning bird or a night owl; if she preferred chamomile or peppermint tea when she couldn’t sleep. What were her favorite books—if there was one she could read over and over and never be tired of the characters and worn the spine until it began to fall apart at the seams. If there was a comfort movie she would watch where she’d feel all the hope in the world in the one second the heroine found her place before the screen went black and the credits rolled.

The list could go on.

Not once in his life did Ben feel this way about another person.

Not even when he was on the verge of marriage.

A terrifying and exhilarating revelation. One he decide to take in stride, despite the voices in his head screaming for him not to. Despite his fight or flight instincts telling him to push her away and keep his distance.

Instead he put himself out there, flirted, talked more than he talked to anyone in months outside of his parents, Rose, and Breha.

To his astonishment, she seemingly liked him back.

At least Ben assumed as Rey now made a habit to show up at the café every Saturday at six in the morning for her cup of coffee.

Or more so their conversation over several cups of coffee.

In response to this routine change, Ben allowed Breha to sleep in with the promise to be ready by the time Rey picked her up for their afternoon painting class. For the last five weeks, at eleven in the morning on the dot, he’d receive a text message of his daughter reminding him she was ready and waiting. And every Saturday at eleven-ten in the morning, Rey parted with a promise to come back for dinner that night, Breha in tow.

She did come back for dinner, the take-out rotating between Chinese and Italian each weekend. Over the course of five weeks Ben learned her favorite dish was the walnut chicken and she liked to hoard all the fortune cookies just read off all the silly inscriptions and never ate the stale cookie. For Italian she liked the tortellini mushroom and minestrone soup, and she and Breha ate the bread like it was the meal rather than the hot steaming food in front of them.

They both slathered the bread in corpus amounts of butter and eat the entire loaf together without letting Ben snatch a slice. Both chewing in the same aggressive manner, though Breha conscious of not making a mess and Rey…not so much. They’d chuckle in the same half deep, half carefree rattle when he’d bemoan about their lack of sharing.

Amused by Rey and Breha, Ben could not help but let his imagination run in such instances.

Maybe Rey’s child, the one she put for adoption, was somehow Breha.

Maybe the stars aligned and against the odds Breha accidentally stumbled upon her mother, and this was the world’s way of correcting a misstep in the universe.

Because Ben noticed the similarities between the two—

Their laughter, their eyes, their smiles, their talent…

However, Ben knew the chances were slim to none.

Yes, he liked to believe in fate and destiny, but is happened to be a thought in retrospect. One to help him cope with the coincidences and circumstances in his life.

Once dinner was eaten and Breha made it her mission to show Rey anything to her hearts content, which more often than not involved her progress on her current art pieces. Then before the clock could strike eight o’clock, Rey excused herself for the night. Ben would then walk her to her car, despite her protests that she could walk to her car _‘just fine, thank you very much.’_

After some squabbling and bickering over nothing and everything, he’d give her a kiss on the cheek and said farewell until Monday. The blush smattering her cheekbones was enough to send his heart soaring.

She liked him too.

He had not doubt in his mind.

They were just playing the long and slow game. As much as Ben lacked patience, he would wait for eternity if it meant Rey would carve out a place in her heart for him.

* * *

“Do you have any plans for Saturday November 21st at 8pm?” Rey hoped she didn’t sound too out of breath when asking, she working up the nerve to bring up the date for two weeks. They’d been walking out to her car; she overstayed her usual time due to Breha’s instance of watching a Beauty & the Beast. The girl had been stunned to learn she never saw the animated film, dinner migrated to the living room instead of the dining table to watch.

Ben nearly blew a gasket with them eating on the couches, laying kitchen towels on their laps and on any open surface on the gray fabric. Luckily, no spills or drops were made, but that did not stop Ben from being on edge for part of the night.

Briefly Rey wondered how Ben survived with a toddler Breha, or better yet Breha in general, with half her clothes covered in paint and charcoal and her slightly messy eating habits. There had to be stories, ones Rey found herself longing to hear regardless of the pang it would cause in her chest.

“Uh,” Ben’s pressed his lips together, shaking his head, “no, besides doing the usual dinner with you and Bre. And that is an oddly specific time and date,” he added with a chuckle. “Should I have something for that date?”

Upon reaching her car, she peered up at him. Her heart did a funny leap when she met his gaze, willing herself to not look away—like she’d done more times than she could count. “I have an gallery showing on that day and the curator has been bothering me for weeks, wanting to know if I invited any friends or family. And I thought, maybe… you and Breha would like to come?”

Ben blinked, a little surprised.

“I mean you don’t have to give an answer now,” Rey barreled through, covering up any hope she may have oozed in abundance at the invite, “It’s almost a month away—and it is full of fuddy duddies half the time and I mostly just stand there to look pretty while I hear whispers of people tearing apart my work—”

“We—I’d—We’d love to go,” Ben sputtered out before her rambles could deep dive any further into her insecurities. “It sounds nice. Breha and I want to support you—so thank you for inviting us.”

“Thank you for being someone I want to invite.”

The two stood staring at each other for a moment, not mind the cold or the silence. Just staring into one another’s eyes.

Fleetingly Rey hoped he’d kiss. Fully kiss her—not the modest and sweet kiss on the cheek he gave—but one to ruin all future kisses for her. One to make her loose her breath and sent her stomach in a flutter because she knew a kiss from him would be the death of her. Feeling his lips on her cheek sent her mind reeling each time, her mind imagining how his lips would feel everywhere after such slip of moments.

A wrack of harsh wind shuddering through the clearing broke the moment.

Ben cleared his throat, hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced around the driveway. “Um—I forgot to mention, but I’m going to have to cancel on dinner next weekend.”

“Oh?” Her disappointment was palpable. She knew she had to cancel next weekend as well, but she’d been planning to send Poe a ‘ _sorry, I got sick’_ text and bail on the night. While free food was enticing, especially at Poe’s expense, spending the evening with Ben and Breha sounded far better than anything anyone could offer.

“Yeah,” he said, apologetic, “my buddy has a birthday thing—I’m pretty sure it is thinly veiled bar-hop.” Ben shudder in disgust at the phrase. “He has a tendency to switch up things last minute, and I can’t back out. Mostly because I have backed out more times deemed appropriate for a friendship.”

“I understand,” Rey confessed with a wiry smirk. “Have bailed on outings so many times—my ideal night is just staying in, eating too much food, and being with people I love.”

The implication hung in the air for a second.

“That’s my ideal night too,” Ben said softly. “I’m glad we do this.”

Lifting her gaze back to his, she smiled, willing herself to be bold. “Me too.”

Ben learned forward…

Her breath stilled.

…and pressed his lips to her cheek.

“Goodnight, Rey,” he murmured against her skin.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

Her disappointment over the kiss did not settle into her bones until she closed her eyes for bed, the scene played on repeat behind her eyelids.

Patience had always been her virtue…but Ben Solo was making it increasingly impossible to remain so. Rey could not wait another week, let alone eternity, for the man to finally make his move.

* * *

“I want to meet my mother,” Breha declared, sitting prim and proper on the chair across from Ben Kenobi’s desk. She had tagged along with her dad that day to the café, claiming to go to the boardwalk down the street for an ice cream—instead she walked five blocks over to Old Kenobi’s adoption agency’s Ach-To offices, double checking the schedule online to assure he’d be in the office that day. “I think I am old enough to meet her and I know you have her information. You allow children and biological parents to meet if there is consent on both sides.” She placed on the printed out form on the edge of Ben Kenobi’s desk before sitting back, ramrod straight in her chair. “Here is my consent form. Signed and appropriately marked.”

The old man raised an eyebrow. With a shaky hand he picked up the form.

And dropped it in the garbage.

“Hey!” She jumped out of her seat about to dive for the paper. “I did the proper protocol—"

“Breha Padme Solo I will call your father and tell him what you are doing if you do not sit down this instant,” Kenobi order, stock-still and unamused.

Not needing to be told twice, the thirteen year old hopped into the chair and listened.

“Foraging signatures is illegal, especially on sensitive documents. And while you did try, your father has distinct penmanship and I know a fake when I see one. You are not the first child to attempt this.” He tsked, clasping his hands on top of his desk. “Now tell me why you are here, demanding information, and not with your father?”

Squirming in her seat, Breha huffed. “I want to meet my mom and I want to at least try and do it the right way.”

He hummed. “Why the sudden curiosity?”

“Because…because I’m getting older and I want to know where I am from. I don’t want her to be my parent or anything,” she rolled her eyes, “my dad does enough as it is. I don’t need another one. I just want to _know_ her, see her in person. Doesn’t every adopted kid want that?”

“Some yes, some no,” he answered, blunt and to the point. “But you are too young to make this decision yourself, my dear.” His green eyes regarded her warily. “Have you spoken to your father about this desire to meet your birth mother?”

“Yes…”

“Explicitly?”

“What?” Her face scrunched up, confused by the word.

Kenobi hummed. “Out right? Have you spoken to him outright and openly how you want to meet your birth mother?”

Her face became ashen. “No.” Another half huff-half groan came from her. “He doesn’t get it! He listens to my questions, but he doesn’t do anything about it! It’s like he is just waiting for me to shut up about it and then move on! But I’m never going to move on from this—please tell me you get that?”

Kenobi’s sternness softened a fraction. “I do understand, Breha. Many children do feel the way you do. Like their parents are avoiding the matter, but you must also understand what position you are putting your father in.”

“What do you mean?”

Kenobi stood up, motioning Breha to follow. He ambled over to the small kitchenette in his office. An electric kettle sat boiling on the counter, he pulling out a mug from the cabinet. “Would you like tea?”

She nodded, knowing her manners. “I am fine with anything.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, dropping an English Breakfast into each mug. “You see Breha, Ben is your father. He did all the dad things—helping you with your homework, feeding you, clothing you, tucking you into bed at night. Scaring the monsters under your bed or in your closet away. You are his life, my dear.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’. And for many parents who adopt, it hurts a little to hear questions about the birth parents especially if they feel like they didn’t provide enough. Ben is your father and always will be your father, but he can never be your mother per say. You wondering about your mother probably reminds him that he never gave you a mother.”

“But I don’t _need_ a mom—I just want to know who she is. Biologically.”

“I understand that,” Kenobi assured her, passing the steaming mug over to her. “But your father may not. I hate to say it, but your father is a very insecure man.”

“I know.” Breha shrugged, not bothered by the fact. “But he has no reason to be.”

“Insecurities, my dear, are not always things we can control. But they are things we can overcome.” He plucked out a small jar. “Sugar?”

Breha dropped two cubes into her mug.

“Dear Breha, there will come a time where you will meet your mother. I am sure of it. But we cannot force these things to happen. Time and maturity are of the essence; I believe both you, your father, and your mother need more time before you take that step.”

“But what if I am ready—why should I wait?”

“The fact you _think_ you are ready is a sign you are _not_ ready. There is no need to rush, Breha. You are just thirteen. Plenty of time to spare.”

As much as Breha would like to believe the kind old man, she knew what was best.

She was going to continue to seek Rey Williams herself.

* * *

Standing outside the restaurant in Takodana Square, Rey hugged her coat tighter.

She went against her better judgement and wore a dress. A deep purple, tea length, with a wrapped top; a dress she would never wear outside a gallery if it hadn’t been for Poe insisting his fortieth birthday dinner was a ‘business causal to semi-formal event.’

Naturally Rey went with the more business casual, not in the mood to get more done up than necessary. Knowing her friend, the guests would all be ready to party it up, no doubt younger than herself. She came to an early realization Poe liked to collect friends like trading cards. He’d swap and toss and drop many, but keep the valuable ones close and kept away in a picture frame.

Rey supposed she should have been flattered; Poe had kept her around for almost ten years. Called her the little sister he never had and checked up on her more than her own family. Sure, they didn’t necessarily get along—more like he was oil and she was water, but for some reason he _cared_.

In her life she learned take what she could get. Especially when it came to those who cared.

So she sometimes joined him for a night out, or indulged him and went to a movie she had no care to see.

She did it because _yeah_ , maybe she cared for him a little too. And that’s what friends did.

Though standing in the frigid late October night waiting for him since he was running late and the hostess of _The Spark_ refused to seat her until Poe came was not the ideal.

Not to mention she was more than a little nervous considering she was the only person in the party to show…and the reservation was for six-thirty and it was five till.

Pulling out her phone, she swiped to Poe’s number, ready to lecture him on the importance of showing up on time for one’s own gathering when she saw him turned around the corner.

“Poe! What the hell—”

Her next words died in the back of her throat, stunned to see who he was pulling along. Dressed in a nice, dark navy blue suit and tie with his facial hair shaved off and hair somewhat put together, rather than the mused mess it happened to be from his nervous fingers, was _Ben_.

Ben noticed her immediately, his steps besides Poe slowing down as they reached her. Confusion reflected back to her, Ben as puzzled to see her as she was to see him. A silent match of wills occurred between the two, over who’d be the first to address the matter.

Poe, on the other hand, remained unaware. “Cool, you’re here. Thought you’d bail again, like you did—”

“What are you doing here?” Ben blurted out. He hunched further in on himself, his sole focus on her and only her.

Rey’s brows furrowed. “I thought you had a thing with a friend—”

“Yes,” Ben stressed, “I do—this is my friend, Poe.”

“You know Poe?” Rey gapped. “I know Poe!”

“How do you know Poe?”

“I can ask you the same thing—”

“And _Poe_ is wondering how the hell you two know each other!” Their seemingly mutual friend chimed in, stepping in between the two with a charming, if not nauseating smile. “Because _Poe_ has been trying to get you two to meet for like _six years_!”

Ben’s mouth snapped shut, stifling a laugh. “And Poe should probably stop referring to himself in the third person—you know that is a sign of insanity.”

“Shut up,” Poe hissed, dusting the lapels of his suit jacket. “Anyways—Rey this is Ben, my childhood best friend—”

“Oh,” her eyes went alight at the name fell in place with the man before her, “you’re _that_ Ben!”

Ben’s eyes narrowed, humoring her. “Would there be another ‘Ben’?”

““Ben’ _is_ a common name,” she defended with a small, mocking shrug.

“And Ben,” Poe clamored back into the conversation, “this is Rey, my current best friend—”

“That’s a stretch,” she uttered without remorse.

“Okay, ‘friend that I like to consider like a sister,’” Poe amended, “ _Happy_?”

Rey rolled her eyes. “It’s satisfactory, I suppose.”

Ben covered his snort with a cough, ducking his head away.

“Okay, now that introductions are out of the way,” Poe muttered, annoyance lacing his words, “I’m going to check us in—”

“Shouldn’t we wait for anyone else?” Rey asked, glancing around to make sure no straggler to the party was turning around the corner.

Her friend winced, taking a step back. “You see…you two were the uh, the only ones who RSVPed.”

“What?” Rey felt her stomach drop—never once had she pitied Poe, but apparently there was a first for everything. “How many people did you invite?”

“I’d…” Poe waved his hands around for a moment, before shoving them into his pocket and shrugging, “I’d rather not say. But hey,” he choked out, “the people who mattered the most showed up, so that’s all that matters!” He ducked into the restaurant before another word could be said.

Rey spun around to Ben, eyes wide in panic. “I have a confession—Poe had to beg me to come tonight.”

Mouth twisted closed, Ben was solemn. “He did the same with me. God, this is going to cripple his ego. Majorly.”

“He’s going to get drunk; I can already feel it in my bones,” Rey surmised. “And cry. Cry a lot.”

“And he’s the ugliest crier,” Ben cringed, running another hand through his dark hair. “The last time I dealt with a crying Poe, I did not see Breha for two days.”

“Why?”

“He wouldn’t let me leave him alone,” Ben uttered in complete horror. “I love the guy but…” he shook his head, as though reliving the nightmare, “he is a lot to handle.”

“I could not have said it better myself. Once, when he broke up with one of his girlfriends, he slept on my couch. For two _weeks_. Only got up to use the restroom and _maybe_ eat.” Making up her mind, Rey faced the restaurant entrance head on. “Okay—we need to make this the best birthday ever. Even if it means we have to shower him with compliments until he’s back on his usual bullshit.”

“Agreed.”

Ben took her hand in his, warm and comforting, and opened the door for her.

* * *

Making Poe’s dinner the ‘best birthday’ was easier said than done.

“ _CAN I GET ANOTHER COCKTAIL PLEASE_!”

“Poe, that’s your third one in the last ten minutes,” Ben warned him, “you need to slow down.”

While they’d been outside, Poe gave up their reservation in the dining area and asked to be seat in the bar lounge. The three sat at one of the tall tables at the further end of the bar, Poe drowning away his sorrows.

“I told myself I would _never_ turn forty,” Poe waved his index finger at them. “Never! Because when you turn forty, you official enter middle age. And does this piece of ass look middle age to you?”

“Yes,” Ben declared, sipping his Jack and Coke with little expression. “It does look middle age to me.”

Poe flipped Ben off. The birthday boy then turned to Rey expectantly.

“I’d rather not answer.” She took a small sip of her red wine, choosing something sweet. She hadn’t been able to drink the hard stuff since her teenage years, the taste bring back unwanted memories. “Think of it this way Poe—not everyone lives to be forty.”

“That is what optimistic bastards like you say to feel better—but I’m not an optimistic bastard.”

“Did you pre-game before getting in the Uber?” Ben asked seriously. “Because three cocktails doesn’t do this to you.”

A sloppy shrug danced on Poe’s shoulders. Guilt smeared his face yet he gave good effort to fight his transparency. “… _Maybe_.”

Ben cursed under his breath, taking another slow sip of his drink. “I swear, it’s like dealing with a toddler.”

“I wish I was toddler!” Poe bemoaned, slumping in his chair. “Then I’d have my whole life ahead of me. Not half of my life _gone_!” He scooted closer to the table and leaned forward, staring Rey and Ben down. “Do you know how long it has been since I got laid?”

“I honestly don’t want to know,” Rey said drinking more of wine, hoping it’d edge off the headache Poe was causing her.

“I…” Ben seemed to consider placing a bet for a moment before being resolute. “Nope. No, I don’t want to know either.”

“ _SEVEN MONTHS_!”

And the water works began.

Rey snapped her eyes shut while Ben watched on with horror as Poe’s face crumbled into a mess of snot, tears, and blotchiness.

“I…I don’t even think it works anymore,” Poe wheezed out between hiccupping sobs, “because the last time I did get laid, it took a long time to get there—”

“Okay!” Rey cried out, waving a hand out for their waiter, the young woman hurrying over. “We are going to order some snacks. Yeah? Yeah.”

Ben sent her a grateful glance before reaching for a menu and ordering truffle fries and macaroni balls before Poe could add anything atrocious to their bill besides another round of cocktails.

Once the waitress walked off, Poe resumed his pity party. “You know…sometimes I think you two got this whole life thing figured out—I mean you guys don’t need anyone. I’m the one who needs you.”

“Poe—” Rey began, but he waved her off.

“No it’s true,” he shook his head, his graying hair flopping in his face. “You don’t need anyone Rey—not even your fuck turd of a Grandpa Palps! You said ‘screw you asshole’ and made a fucking life for yourself and that is the most badass thing ever!” He sat up riled up, the tears gone and replaced by drunken praise. “Because even when he told you, you were shit and you had to fucking give up your baby before that turd could get his hands on her—” Rey openly glared at Poe for bringing up something he should have not known in the first place and announcing it in a loud, crowded bar. Her mind was short-circuiting as more words tumbled from his mouth.“—you still fought like a badass! A real true badass.”

When it seemed like Poe was done, he continued on, downing a cocktail before turning to Ben.

“And Ben—dude, dude,” Poe hiccupped, “you are the most selfless dude in existence. Raising Breha by yourself even after your fiancée cheated on you and walked out. Like _what_?” Ben sunk further in his seat, his own glare forming as he stared at Poe long and hard. Ben never once mentioned he was cheated on, making it seem like it was an amical breakup rather than something so painful as a betrayal of trust. “Fuck Katherine; she was always a bitch and always drank all my beer and said it was you, when I know for a fact bougie Ben Solo would never touch _Coors-Light_ even if held at gun point! If I was left with a baby, I would have said take this little gremlin back, I can’t do this by myself. Yet you did it, and you do it so good—like I wish _you_ were my dad. That’s how fucking good you are.”

The waitress inched back to their table, apologetically setting another cocktail down at their table.

Poe chugged it and slapped the glass down. “ _WHOW_! Let’s get another—”

“We’re leaving,” Ben declared, standing up. Rey followed his lead, shrugging back on her coat.

“And do you know what the best part is about you two?” Poe babbled, Ben attempting to get him back into his coat sans suit jacket. “Neither of you need to date or be with someone! You two have mastered the art of being single!”

“Get an Uber so we can get the hell out of here.” Ben ordered Rey. He slapped down more than enough cash to cover the bill on the table.

“Already on it. Should be here in less than fifteen.”

They left inside of _The Spark_ in favor for the sobering cool night, Poe standing at the curb between Rey and Ben like a delinquent child. Less than the estimated arrival, their Uber rolled up, all three climbing into the backseat like they were some college kids after a rough night rather than adults who’d gone out for evening drinks.

Poe leaned heavily on Ben’s side through out the drive to his apartment, murmuring about how ‘awesome’ his two ‘friends’ were.

I’d be flattering if Poe spoke with a filter rather than say whatever thought came to mind.

“D’ya’know, I have tried to set you two up for years,” Poe whispered conspiratorially as the driver turned on to his street. “But you two _always_ bailed on me. Always…but tonight you didn’t,” he grinned up at them tiredly, “if anything good comes out of this shitty night, it’s that I finally set you two up, like the badass matchmaker I am.”

The Uber stopped at Poe’s place, Ben climbing out to help their friend up to his apartment while Rey waited in the Uber. Poe leaned heavily on Ben’s side as they made their way to the door, just out of line of sight for Rey. After ten minutes passed, the Uber driver now playing Candy Crush on his phone as they waited, Ben came back.

“He okay?” Rey asked once the driver started the route to her house.

“Yeah, vomited once we got inside and made it to the bathroom in time. Drank some water and went to sleep on his side. He should be okay, just going have a killer headache in the morning.”

“Good, good.” She nodded, hugging herself.

Silence fell over the two as they left the city lines of downtown Takodana and into the outskirts where more cottage style homes and gated properties lined the roads, all nestled into the woodland area.

“Were you supposed to go to Poe’s New Year’s Eve party back in 2015?”

Rey peeked over to Ben, a little startled by the random, specific question.

“Uh—” she tried to think back to 2015, if there was a New Years party she may have skipped out on—and then it hit her, “—yes. Yes actually. I finished up my grad work in Ireland and I was planning on coming back in time—I promised Poe, I would be back in time— but I got stuck in a layover in Colorado because of some huge blizzard.” She recalled the nightmare situation, surrounded by angry and agitated people in the airport before she had enough. “I just decided to call off the whole thing and spend New Years in the state until the weather cleared and it was safe enough to travel again.”

Ben didn’t say anything, staring out the window, mouth pinched tight.

* * *

When the Uber arrived at Rey’s house, Ben walked her to the door.

Her porch light shined through the flora and fauna outside her home, illuminating the greenery sitting in the darkness.

“Thank you for walking me to my door, even though it wasn’t necessary,” she quipped, hoping to lighten the sudden somber mood they found themselves tangled in.

“I try to be gentleman,” he shot back, his lips twitching into a smile for the first time that night. “Especially after that shitshow.”

“I want to both remember and forget tonight.” While it had been nice to know Poe thought so highly of her, Rey wasn’t exactly a fan of how or why she discovered his opinions. “But thank you for being my partner in crime—I couldn’t have survived tonight without you.”

“I wouldn’t have survived without you either.”

Ben swallowed, hands tucked into his pockets as he shuffled a bit on his feet.

Rey dropped her gaze, knowing the impending kiss on the cheek was coming. “Well, I guess this is goodnight…” she trailed off, looking back over to the curb where the Uber had been parked—only to realize it was gone. “Wait, how are you getting back home—”

“Breha is with my parents tonight,” Ben said in one breath, “because I thought I was going to be dragged around to all the bars in Takodana and I don’t like her seeing me drunk or hungover in any capacity. So I was going to crash at Poe’s, but then that didn’t happen. And then you were there, looking beautiful and—”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Then why aren’t you—”

“I think I might be in love with you.”

Rey’s eyes snapped to his. “What?” she breathed.

“I—I _know_ I am in love with you,” Ben amended. A sputtering, panicked laugh tumbled from his lips his eyes never leaving hers. “And I knew this was the only opportunity I’d have to get the nerve to tell you because no one else is here except for us and—”

His next words were muffled by Rey’s lips on his.

A nose bumping, forceful kiss. But one that made her heart leap in surprise, longing for more. More than rushed and frantic, feeling his need to be gentle but thorough as they found their rhythm with each other. Her hands tangled in his soft, dark locks—thinking of his hair more than she cared to admit—and his warm, comforting hands finally finding their place on the small of her back, to pull her closer.

Only he broke away a second later in a daze, eyes half open and awe-like smile on his lips. She wanted him to make that smile for her forever; she didn’t want anything else, ever. His smile was more than enough, better than anything she could have imagined. “I wasn’t finished talk—”

“ _Please_ stop talking,” she whined out between a giggle, “and just kiss me, goddamn it.” A brisk wind came through, the two huddling closer together. “Preferably inside.”

With anxious hands, they both dug into her purse for her keys, Rey finding them a few seconds into their hunt and unlocking the door.

His mouth found hers the moment the door shut, his touch not leaving her for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CUE FADE TO BLACK, LOL.
> 
> If you read my stuff, ya know I don't write smut. I just don't. I will allude and write the moments leading into it or write a smutless sex scene (which is possible) but I don't write the deed. Sorry, not sorry. I don't have it mentioned in the tags so don't throw your pitchforks at me like smut was to be expected in this fic.
> 
> Anyways...
> 
> YAY! THEY KISSED.
> 
> But if you are a reader of mine....THIS MEANS SHIT IS ABOUT TO HIT THE FAN. Y'ALL ARE WARNED.
> 
> Btw, my favorite thing about this chapter is Ben thinking REY wants to go slow, so he is holding back. And Rey thinking BEN wants to go slow, and she is about to lose it holding back. BAHAHAHAHA. I love these idiots.


	8. Painful But Necessary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE LONG ANTICIPATED CHAPTER. WHOOP-WHOOP.
> 
> REMEMBER, READ THE TAGS. ANGTS GALOR IN THIS CHAPTER.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Enjoy.

* * *

_**Painful But Necessary** _

* * *

Ben woke up at five in the morning.

He wanted to sleep in, he really did.

To stay wrapped up around Rey’s warm and slender body, to let the night continue into the morning. To act like he didn’t have things to do, a daughter to check in on, and a friend he had to call to make sure he was at least functioning like a human.

As cheesy as it sounded, Ben wanted to just be a man in bed with the woman if his dreams.

But his internal clock woke his at five in the morning.

Blinking blearily, Ben found his face smothered into Rey’s neck. Short chestnut locks tickled his nose, a hint of honey mingled amongst the smell of her. She fell asleep partially on his arm, a numbing sensation tingling his bicep. Carefully, he wiggled his arm out from under her. Her head plopped on to the pillow below, aware of the switcheroo. Hair flopped onto her face at the drop, draping along her forehead and jawline.

With a tender hand, he swept her hair away, tucked behind her ear. He refrained from tracing the lines and slopes of her face and neck, in fear of waking her and falling right back into her embrace.

Ghosting a kiss on her temple, Ben willed himself to slid out of the bed. The cool air greeted him as he left the warm trappings of the duvet and quilt. He made quick to find his underwear and t-shirt, throwing them on as he suppressed a yawn. The rest of his suit sat rumbled at foot of Rey’s side of the bed, along with her dress. He made his way around the bed and picked up each garment. With care, he shook each piece out and laid their clothes out on the back of the arm chair tucked to corner of the ‘room.’

Not until the near daylight hours, did Ben realize Rey’s home was more of studio than house, or if he wanted to be generous, an open-concept house. The only room with a door happened to be the bathroom at the other end of the house by the small living room. Thick, blue curtains sectioned off the bedroom from the dining room and the little impromptu office area on the wall opposite. A sun room sat at the back of the house, also curtained off with lightweight green curtains.

A bit nonsensical in its layout, but he assumed accommodating for someone who lived on their own.

He surmised the ultimate benefit of the layout was the kitchen being less than a few feet away from the bedroom. At least he was glad about that layout decision as he shuffled over to start a pot of coffee.

Opening a few cabinets here and there, he finally found the coffee grains scooped a gratuitous amount of spoonful’s into the basket. He added more water to the reserve and pressed the button. A light whirring filled the house, muted enough to be ignored and fade into the background.

Rubbing his jaw, Ben frowned at the scruff coming in. He’d need to shave again soon, unaware just how much Rey liked his clean shaven face until the previous night.

_“I like your face. I like seeing all of it. It’s beautiful.”_

_“You’re being silly.”_

_“No, I’m not! I’m an artist—I just know these things.”_

He rolled his eyes at that comment, but she kissed his amusement away before he could say anything to counter her argument.

Glancing down at her sink, he realized she had a couple of dishes left. A mug and a plate. Idly while waiting for the pot to finish, Ben decided to wash the dishes. A task that took less than thirty seconds and left him standing still again, the drip-drop of the coffee his personal timer.

So he wandered a bit.

Rey had been in his house countless times, maybe it was about time for the roles to be reversed. So he let his feet wander, take him where his half awake brain wanted to lead. His eyes roved the walls, looking for anything that screamed Rey and her life…however Ben felt no closer to the woman than he did before. Art lined her walls, but it wasn’t hers. Pieces she perhaps purchased or been gifted, and hung up for the sake of hanging something up on her walls. There wasn’t an aesthetic to her home, at least not the one she showcased to world, it almost felt…lost in the chaos.

Her home felt full—of color, knick-knacks, art—yet there wasn’t anything personal. No family pictures, or pictures with friends; pictures at all. Except for one of her and Poe tacked on her fridge. There was no doubt in Ben’s mind Poe printed the picture and put it on her fridge himself when he too noticed a lack of pictures in the house.

Her dining room table, a modest circular table wide enough for maybe five or six people, remained untouched. A thin layer of dust coated the dark wood surface. Her desk was in a similar state, however stacked with multiple students work, waiting to be graded and given back.

On the couch, her dog slept soundly, belly up and snoring. He claimed the space as his own, a chew toy and blanket nested in one corner. The television was on at a low volume, infomercials for a vacuum playing on the screen.

Ben shut the television off; he never realized it was on in the first place. Setting the remote back down on the coffee table, he made his way over to the sunroom. He figured the glass room would never be in use, also collecting dust, especially in the fall and winter months.

Pulling back the curtain, he found himself pleasantly surprised.

Because it was Rey’s art studio.

Paint splattered concrete floor made the room far cooler, Ben shivering as he stepped into the place. The meager heater of the house did not reach the room, a space heater sitting in the center of the room, unplugged. He flicked the light switch on, a few hanging light bulbs buzzing to life. A couple of projects sat against the low cabinets in various states of completion, Ben unable to decipher what they’d be of, but knowing them to be undeniably stunning once finished.

Various paint brushes were hung on hooks, drying by a small mop sink, while others were organized into styles and types in the plastic organizer beside it. All the drawers were marked with tape and sharpie with Rey’s sloppy hand writing. Loopy and lazy, but legible enough to decipher the letters.

Another desk was tucked into the furthest corner of the room. Worn to the bone and messy with papers and sticky notes littered all over the place, Ben finally saw the shadows and lines of the Rey he knew.

Reminders and ideas for projects were written in her scrawl on bright neon paper. Notebooks and sketchbooks were all lined up in neat order, labeled in the same manner as everything else in Rey’s domain.

He was half temped to get her a label maker for Christmas.

Pictures were laminated and taped on the desk’s tabletop surface—ones with Poe, one with a woman in a matching smock with Rey, and another of a younger Rey with an elderly man.

At second glance Ben realized it was Old Ben Kenobi.

She looked no older than twelve, bright smile as Kenobi held the girl close.

And while Kenobi’s connection to Rey was startling, another glaring detail captured Ben’s attention in a strong hold.

Young Rey was a spitting image of Breha.

_His Breha_.

He always knew they looked alike, but to see a picture of a young Rey closer to Breha’s age, he couldn’t deny the stark resemblance. The chin, the smile, the eyes…an eerier resemblance to the point Ben felt nauseous and light headed.

His far-fetched theory couldn’t be true? _Right_?

Attempting to control his breathing, Ben sat down in the desk chair. His hand clenched on the corner of the desk, accidentally pulling on the notebook sitting at the edge. Papers tumbled out, scattering by his feet in a clumsy array.

Cursing under his breath, Ben reached down to collect the papers.

He stopped short when he caught sight of Breha’s name.

_Breha’s age: 14_

_Baby’s age: 14_

_Breha’s birthday: December 13 th 2005_

_Baby’s birthday: December 13 th 2005_

_Breha: Adopted_

_Baby: Adopted_

Ben scanned the page, frowning as the list continued on, listing the similarities between ‘Breha’ and the elusive ‘Baby.’ He flipped through the papers, quick half-hearted sketches of Breha on a few on the pages, until he landed on the last one.

Two photos taped to the page, side by side.

One of a newborn in Rey’s arms.

The other his—of the day Breha was born.

His eyes darted between the two photos, unable to spot the difference in the infant.

Because it was the _same_ the infant. He’d know Breha anywhere. A half blurry photo was no match to the eyes of a father that had seen his daughter nearly every day for the last fourteen, almost fifteen years.

“Hey, you didn’t need to make coffee.”

Bare feet padded around the house.

“ _Ben_?” There was an ire of panic in her voice, Ben able to sense it from the other room.

“It’s a force of habit,” Ben muttered absentmindedly. His eyes remained glued to the side by side photos of Breha—they were of Breha, he knew it. He absolutely _knew_ it.

“I hear you, but I don’t see you,” she called out, her voice traveling from the kitchen and coming closer. Her shadow paused in front of the sunroom, an unsureness to her step.

He heard the curtains pushed open.

“Sorry it’s a mess in here, I never really expect anyone—” Her vague excuse was cut short. “—Ben, what are you doing?”

“What…the fuck is this?” His eyes snapped to Rey, she standing a few feet away. She hugged herself tighter, her large sweater and checkered pajama pants swallowing her frame.

“Ben,” she said in an attempt of calmness; her voice gave a tremor at his name, “it’s not what it looks like.”

He hated that phrase; it spoke of lies and deception. One he heard rattled off by plenty of people in his life. A phrase used to calm him, to warn him to not jump to conclusions, yet it did the exact opposite. ‘It’s not what is looks like,’ caused his mind to run full speed ahead in the direction in the trail his gut reaction followed.

“And what does it look like?”

Her mouth opened and closed, not a sound coming out. Yet her sharp, compassionate hazel eyes remained locked on his. Unafraid, but cracking under the silence.

“Because,” Ben began, the paper crinkling under his grip, “because it looks like…like you think Breha is—”

“I don’t know if she is,” Rey sputtered out in a hurry. She took a steady step forward, bare feet sure against the cool concrete of the sunroom. “I honestly don’t know if she’s…”

She couldn’t even say the phrase, choking on the words. As though saying the phrase made it true. Truer than the obvious staring right at them all this time.

Unshed tears glistened in her eyes, buoying on her the rims of her eyelids. Rising and falling in the current of her withheld emotions. Yet she remained strong and in control despite her stumbling words. “But a lot of details matched up and I—I don’t know _what_ to think.”

Ben’s mind reeled, the exposure stinging him. “So you what? You decided to get close to her? _Fuck_ —get close to us? Get to know us personally? Borderline stalk us—”

“No!” Rey cried out, eyes blown wide. She hugged herself tighter, knuckles whitening. “It was never anything like that!”

Ben stood up, the room feeling suffocating with the way she looked at him. Looking at him like he was the fragile one—the glass china about fall off the edge and break into a millions pieces. “You just happen to have these pictures and these sketches—

“It was not like that! I didn’t even think she could be my daugh—” she swallowed the word back, chewing hard on the inside of her cheek before pushing herself to continue, “—I didn’t think she _could be_ until I saw the picture at your house!” Rey heaved a heavy sigh, attempting to catch her breath.

“What were you going to do—get close to her, take her away from me? Because you can’t fucking do that!” His shoulders tensed, a thread of fear reignited in his bones. Years of pent up emotions towards the faceless woman he called Breha’s biological mother came to the surface in an unforgiving tidal wave. A cacophony of hated and love dwelled within him for the woman he never knew—but the hate decided to win for once. Hate won out despite the fact the faceless woman was the face he found himself dreaming about and wanting to outline with tender care that very morning. “She’s mine— _she’s my daughter_ —not yours!”

“I know she’s not mine,” Rey defended, wiping her hands on her sweater. “I swear, Ben—I did not think it was a possibility—”

“She looks just like you!” Ben shot back. “That’s bullshit you didn’t think it was a possibility—that is a load of bullshit—”

“ _Don’t say that_ ,” she growled out, arms dropping to her sides, “because I didn’t! I don’t entertain fantastical thoughts that I may meet my daughter out of the blue! No matter if she looks like me or not, because I haven’t seen her in fifteen years! I have no _fucking idea_ what she’d look like!”

“Oh so for you, it was out sight-out of mind, huh?” Pain gripped at his chest, his thoughts flying to his little girl. Breha’s constant questions about her birth mother, the never ending curiosity she had for a woman who gave her up, who has no part of her life. To know all his daughter’s wondering was for naught…it sent a deep pain and protective instinct to unleash from him. “You just had her and decided to forget she even _existed_? Didn’t even think about who she might be or what she’d look like now?”

“That’s not what I said—” Her hands clenched, a loud groan coming from back of her throat. Broken and angry, face burning hot red and blotchy. He knew he must have not been fairing any better, Rey seemingly a constant reflection of himself repeated shoved in his face. “—I didn’t say any of that! You’re putting words in my mouth and—and you don’t know anything, Ben! You don’t know shit, thinking—” She shook her head, the tears threatening to make their way down her cheeks in a glistening fury, “— _thinking_ I wouldn’t think about her every fucking day of my life!” She stepped forward, the only one out of the two of them brave enough to move. To take steps, to take a physical stance. “Because I have! I never forgot her existence, _not once_.”

“Then why was it a closed adoption?” Ben asked, unable to fathom how someone could give up their child and not want any connection what-so-ever. Particularly when that someone thought of their child every day as Rey claimed she did. “Why didn’t you ever give her the opportunity to talk to you, to meet you, to fucking know you beyond the person who gave her life?”

“Because…” Her lips pressed together, Rey inhaling deeply through her nose. “Because I didn’t have a choice.”

Rey saying she didn’t have a choice made him wish she could see his perspective; for her to see why ‘not having a choice’ wasn’t the answer. To him it felt like an excuse; a cheap excuse soaked with guilt.

“Everyone has a choice,” Ben corrected, no buying into such mentality, “everyone has a choice in everything. Even when they don’t feel like they do, they do. It’s if they are willing to do it.”

He had a choice when it came to Breha. He could have passed on adopting her, he could have pulled his application out. But he didn’t. He chose to adopt her, he chose to be a father alone, and he chose to put her first in his life, always.

Her eyes flared at the accusation. “I don’t need to be _lectured_ about choices. Not by anyone, and especially not by you, Ben.”

Rey marched out of the room, the curtains waving behind her as she passed by.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He called out after her. His feet moved on their own accord, the urge to follow her unable to be dispelled. “I am the choices that I make. We are all the choices we make—”

She spun back around, matching him toe to toe in the middle of the living room. “You make your life into this fucking sob story full of triumph at the end that you don’t even seem to enjoy! Oh so sad, Ben Solo is lonely and he acted out and wanted to be loved—I get it Ben. I do, I understand that feeling all too well, but you had the _room_ , the fucking _privilege_ , to make choices in your life! I didn’t!”

Her words knocked the wind out of him, like a stab in the gut. “I didn’t have—”

“You did!” She nodded, arms crossed stubbornly over her chest. “Your parents might have not been there, but you had parents and they loved you! They fucking loved you and didn’t leave you with a man who’d rather see you dead or become—become this shell of human, than let you be a person! I couldn’t let her be like me—I couldn’t let her have the life I had or let him get ahold of her and—and—”

She struggled to catch her breath, hot tears streaming down her face and snot pooling under her nose. Bursting at the seams and unable to get any other words out without sobbing or coughing.

Hiccupping, she crumpled to the ground.

Half hearted she hugged the side of the sofa, attempting to catch her breath.

Unsuccessfully attempting to catch her breath.

His anger snapped out of him, the sight of her rattling him back to reality.

Because this wasn’t a faceless woman.

This was _Rey_.

_Rey_ who’s smile lit up a room, and eyes able to capture him a mile away.

_Rey_ who cared about all her students and wanted the best for them in every possible way. She who spent extra time to help with student’s art projects, she who had an open door policy for any students seeking refuge from the chaos of school

_Rey_ who laughed at all his cheesy jokes, could whip out sarcasm like it was a second language, and had coffee with him every Saturday morning when she had a near wholesale stock of coffee in her cabinets.

_Rey_ who spoke to him like they were best friends after a day together and knew his deepest secrets because for some reason he found himself opening up to her. Rey who he found himself falling for fast and furiously, with a reckless abandoned he never possessed until she entered his life.

She was more than a faceless woman…she was someone he found himself wanting to wake up next to every day just like he did that morning.

She was Rey, and perhaps (more than perhaps) Breha’s biological mother.

The two women were one and the same—which changed everything and nothing, simultaneously. Because Rey was still _Rey_ , and she was crying and Ben was the cause.

Before her, he dropped to his knees. He crawled over, bumping into the coffee table and the couch, until he was beside her.

Knees touched, shoulders bumped, his hand reached for hers…

And she grasped it without second thought. Hands clammy, dried with snort she wiped way, but she held his hand. He felt an drip of relief at her response.

His arms enveloped her, holding her close to his chest as she continued to sob.

“I did—” she hiccupped, rubbing her face into his shirt, “I did what I had to—"

“I know,” he murmured into her hair, “I know. And I’m sorry, Sweetheart. _I’m sorry_ …” he continued to chant into her locks and then down into her neck.

Neither were sure how long they sat their on the floor, crying as they held each other.

But neither cared to let go.

* * *

She never traveled by herself before.

Then again, she never did anything on her own without her Grandfather Palpatine breathing down her neck.

All her savings went towards her ticket; one route, two trains and a bus. One from San Diego to Los Angeles. Then a bus from Los Angeles to Bakersfield. And then a train from Bakersfield to Takodana.

Twelve hours.

Thirteen if she included the time it took to call a cab and drive to Granddad Kenobi’s house.

The cab ride was pleasant enough, better than sitting squished next to a stranger on the train or bus. Infinitely better than the curious eyes peeking at her, staring at her rounded abdomen.

She knew she looked young and their minds jumped to the right conclusions; but that didn’t mean bystanders had the right to stare with unwarranted judgement.

“We’re here,” the driver announced as he pulled up to the curb of the familiar house.

Muttering her thanks, she handed him the cash and slung her backpack on her shoulder. Sliding out of the car, she made sure to grab her duffle bag and marched up the steps of the old Victorian inspired home. The porchlight shined on, the motion detector sensing her. Warm light cut through the night, shining upon her in greeting.

Movement was heard in the house, lights flicked on.

When the door swung open, Rey’s heart leapt in her chest.

_Everything was going to be okay. Because her Granddad would help her._

“Rey, my dear,” Granddad Kenobi breathed upon seeing her, warm green eyes locked on her in wonder. They hadn’t been able to see each other that past summer, Palpatine’s leash on her tightening. He exhibited the extent of his generosity by letting her visit while she was younger. But Palpatine had to do no such thing as she grew older, making her visits infrequent to the point of nonexistent. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” she inhaled deeply, tears prickling her eyes, “I need help.”

He nodded, opening the door wider. A promise of security.

They sat in the kitchen as she explained, in brief, her situation.

How she was pregnant—

_“It was a mistake. A stupid drunk mistake—I don’t even know the guy.”_

How Palpatine had been treating her—

_“He controls everything. He brakes into my room, throws out my things. And he says the most awful things…I can’t help but believe him.”_

How she tried to keep it a secret, but she was well into her second trimester (if the timeline and books were right) and big sweaters could only hide so much—

_“I haven’t been to a doctor. Or gone for a check-up. I was too afraid he’d find out; he has eyes everywhere.”_

Her Granddad Kenobi remained quiet, listening and simply letting her talk. Say what she needed to say. He made her tea and let her cry, giving her his handkerchief. He made her a snack—sliced apples and peanut butter—and made sure she ate it all. His caring eyes watched her like a hawk, not once interrupting her.

Once all was said and done, he hugged her.

Warm cedar and eucalyptus invaded her nostrils, Rey feeling little again with her face pressed against his shoulder. All the troubles of world faded when he held her, the weight of her lonesome burden released.

Pulling away, he wiped away her tears, ignoring his own streaming down his face. “My dear, we will take care of this. I promise. I just have one question; what do you want to do?”

“What…what do you mean?” she croaked, confused by the question.

Her Granddad sat down beside her, holding her hand in his; her anchor in the chaos of the storm.

“In a few short months a baby is going to come into this world.”

“I’m not ready…” she said between gasps of breath, “…I’m not. I can’t.”

Lips shut tight, she shook her head. She couldn’t fathom the thought, no matter how hard she tried to get use to the idea. She tried to imagine herself as a mother—rocking a baby, changing a diaper, making a bottle of milk—and none of it clicked for her. _None of it._

She barely had a mother herself; how on Earth could she _be_ one?

“My dear, I know you are not,” Granddad assured her, taking both her hands in his, “and you don’t need to be if you don’t want to be.”

A rile of panic spiked in her at the implications. Benjamin Kenobi had a well-established adoption agency, he could find any family to his hearts content to take a baby off her hands. Yet the thought didn’t sit right with Rey, her gut churning at the thought of her baby going off with a complete stranger.

“But I don’t want the baby to go to just anyone—”

“And the baby won’t,” he quickly interjected. “You can interview potential parents, see if it is a good fit. You can still be part of baby’s life if you want—”

“No!” she chocked out, the only discernable word the entire night. “No. I…I can’t meet with potential parents or anything like that…” Her mind conjured images of perfect little families looking to just take her child for their own. It make her want to the exact opposite of her endeavors. “If I meet the people and keep in contact, I’ll never be able to move on or…or let go. And _he’ll_ know.”

Granddad Kenobi became grim. “He won’t need to know—”

Furiously, she scrubbed her face. Snot and tears smeared, but she could see clear again; she could talk without sounding completely congested. For a moment, Rey could not think of herself and her pain and the shit in her life, but think of how she can save her unborn child from the cycle of abuse in their unfortunate family. “What can I do to make sure he is never in my child’s life? Never knows I had a baby in the first place? Never knows anything so he can never, _ever_ , get his hands on them?”

Her Granddad hesitated, lips pulled into a firm line. Green eyes searched her, careful and calculated. Searching to see the fault in her gaze, a sign she would refuse his answer.

He sighed. “A closed adoption. You never meet the parents, they never meet you. Both of you remain anonymous and your information will be protected through the agency. If you or your child so desire to meet each other in the future, then it must be done through our offices through the proper channels for confidentiality sake.” His eyes found hers again, pleading her to understand. “But you must know, if you do a closed adoption, there is a chance the child will never want to meet you. There is a chance you’ll never see them again after they are born.”

Rey blinked considering the reality of a closed adoption.

All ties would be cut with a closed adoption. All opportunities of a relationship with her child would be ripped away. All connection, _gone_.

“You promise to find a family you trust?” Her voice quivered at the question, it taking all her strength to make this decision. “A family you know will take care of the baby and to love them and…” her throat closed up to more tears, her heart aching as she made up her mind.

Warm lips pressed to her forehead, a gentle acceptance of her next steps. Granddad Kenobi brought her into his arms once more. “I promise, Rey. I promise they will be with people I trust. In fact I know the perfect person. They’ll take good care of the baby, and be the best parent. They’ll do everything in their power to do right. I just know it.”

She nodded into his shirt, unable to stop the tears.

A painful but necessary choice, one she hoped to not regret one day.

* * *

“…it was the only way to make sure my Grandfather Palpatine never knew she existed,” Rey explained, the ache of that evening years ago reignited in her chest, “because I would never be able to live with myself if he treated her the way he treated me. It wasn’t until after her birth did I start the process for emancipation and then on my eighteenth birthday I changed my name from Rachel Elizabeth Palpatine to Rey Kenobi Williams. And the girl who made all the mistakes and tough choices was gone and replaced with a nobody.” She swallowed, blinking into fresh tears. “And I _really_ like Rey Nobody.”

“Why the name ‘Williams’?” Ben’s voice sounded distant, almost underwater.

She snorted; what a million dollar question.

Groaning, she dropped her face into her knees. “Is it terrible to say there is no sentimental value? That I just liked the sound of it?”

“No,” a half laugh escaped him, “no it is not terrible to say that. I was just curious.”

Lifting her head up, she saw Ben sitting across from her on the other side of the couch. He remained there as she told the horrid story—how her parents died when she was three, left her under the care of her Grandfather Palpatine. A nasty custody battle ensued, but Palpatine knew people in high places; Kenobi lost despite having the stable career, income, and home. She told brief tales of her bleak life with her Grandfather Palpatine and his less than stellar parenting tactics which involved lighting her art work on fire and monitoring her every decision like a tyrant.

Then she got to that night.

The night she ran off on her birthday, had drunk sex, and ended up knocked up and in a new town the next day.

She talked about her awful morning sickness and the bloating, and cravings and the crying. All the hormonal crying. She confessed the many times she thought she was just going to pass out and die while pregnant. Because it was too much, too exhausting, and too stressful to keep it all to herself.

But she pushed through until she saved enough and ran to the only person in the world who’d help her.

Her Granddad Kenobi.

_“He never mentioned he had a granddaughter,” Ben muttered, throat audibly dry. His one interruption in the entire one-sided conversation._

_“He never mentioned he had a namesake,” she shot back._

_“Touché.”_

Ben listened to her the entire time, warm eyes locked on her and drinking in her presence. Not once did he look away, attention only for her.

She’d never been subjected to such focus. An alluring yet intimidating response she found herself liking. Ben had a way of awakening unknown desires and needs from her, Rey often wondering if all the gibberish of ‘other half business’ couples loved to prattle on about held some weight.

“And then you went to school,” Ben said, picking up the story where Rey left off, “and got your degrees and taught art and made art and made a name for yourself. Somehow all that work and effort and talent led you here.” A statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“And by pure luck, or fa— _fucking_ coincidence,” she noticed he refrained on saying ‘fate,’ knowing her to be wary of fantastical logic, “you are Breha’s art teacher. Breha who is your biological daughter.”

“Who I believe may be my biological daughter,” Rey corrected, an old instinct to not get her hopes up, kicking into her system.

“She is your daughter,” Ben said, shaking his head at her comment. “She is—anyone with eyes can see it. We just simply choose to not see the truth, even when it is in front of us.”

“I…cannot argue with that.”

Rey hugged her legs closer to her chest, chin resting on her knees. She forced herself to look at him—too face the music. To hear him take back those three little words of ‘I love you’ from the previous night and leave her alone forever. To walk away with the only happiness she’d ever experienced; being part of a family.

But none of that happened.

Instead, Ben looked at her, unwavering. His warm honey brown eyes spoke of understanding and gentleness. A glint of hurt still remained, a shadow of deep thought laid on him.

But he was still there and not making any motion to move, to leave her.

“We’re not going to tell Breha,” Ben began, a tried sigh edged along his words. “Not under any circumstances.”

“I didn’t even think—”

“I know,” he interjected before she could tumble back into her hysterics. “This…this would be too much for her to handle right now. With school being school and all her focus going into her projects, this wouldn’t be a good thing to throw at her.”

“Thank god.” His words lifted a weight off her chest. “Because that’s the exact reason I don’t want her to know. That’s why I refuse to meet her now—it would be too much.”

Ben’s lips quirked for a fleeting second, then gone the next. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Silence fell over the two once more, Ben seemingly lost in his own world of thought while Rey felt panic begin to stew in her gut once more.

“I…I understand if you don’t want me around as much.”

Ben’s snapped to hers, at attention. “What?”

“I mean,” a shaky breathe wracked through her, “I know it’s a lot of information. Earth shattering information. And me being around probably won’t help—”

“What are you talking about?” Ben scooted forward until his folded leg bumped into her foot. “Rey—I’m not going anywhere. And you’re not going anywhere. Disappearing and cutting each other out is probably the worst thing we can do to each other right now.”

Relief blossomed in her chest, her hand dropping from her knee on to his. “Oh, I just thought…you’d hate me.”

Ben’s head dipped in a sheepish shrug. “I’m upset, for valid reasons. And you’re upset of valid reasons…but I don’t hate you. I don’t think I can ever hate you…because despite it all, you gave me the best person in my life.”

“Breha.”

“Yeah.” He smiled at the name.

“She’s the best because you raised her that way,” Rey told him earnestly, a smile finding its way on her lips, “she’s _wonderful_. More than I could have ever imagined. So smart and so clever…there is so much of you in her personality but then she does something and it’s like seeing a younger me and—and I never thought I could love her more, but somehow I do.”

Awe settled over him, as though he were seeing her for the first time.

And maybe he really was.

He wasn’t seeing Rey Williams, but _just_ Rey.

For once, she felt free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very Rey centric through Ben's eyes. Which was intentional.
> 
> So Rey and Ben now know what they know...BUT THEY DONT KNOW BREHA ALREADY KNOWS. This smells like trouble brewing.


	9. Teenage Girls are Capable of Hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeyyyy
> 
> Here is a chapter.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Enjoy :D

* * *

**_Teenage Girls are Capable of Hate_ **

* * *

“It’s getting late—”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Ben, you don’t need to.”

“But I want to.”

From the couch, Breha rolled her eyes.

Same song and dance every Saturday.

Nine o’clock strikes, Rey says it’s getting late. She gets ready to leave and Ben swoops in insisting he walk her to her car. She says ‘no’, though she doesn’t really mean ‘no’ because it is an almost scripted flirty ‘no.’ Ben insists he ‘wants to,’ they then do some weird staring where they are both grinning like fools, before one of them eventually snaps out of it and opens the door to go outside.

Then they are outside for nearly an _hour_.

And it wasn’t always an hour.

In the beginning it’d be a couple of minutes, maybe twenty minutes at most.

Her dad would come in after all downtrodden and mopey, undeniably sad Rey had to leave. Because somehow, her dad and Rey liked each other. _Liked-liked_ each other.

A _pathetic_ sight.

They’d smile like giddy fools and flirt with awkward phrases and jokes, laughing with each other.

Eyes only for each other.

A _nauseating_ sight.

Yet nothing became of it, much to Breha’s relief.

Sure, she entertained the thought of her dad and Rey dating, falling in love, and the three of them becoming this happy little family. Become some picture of fate and destiny and all the fantasy their story of their lives could lend. A _Hallmark_ movie in the making.

However, Breha was not an idiot.

Her dad hadn’t had a girlfriend in years. The occasional date would occur, but even then he’d figure out a way to weasel out of it. As far as Breha’s research revealed, Rey did not seem keen on romantic relationships either.

Neither were the romantic type. Both were the career oriented type, Rey more so than Ben. She had only recently settled down to teach and who was to say she’d get up and leave again; that’s why Breha used all the time she could to get to know Rey. Get to know her beyond a name and as her biological mother, even if the woman didn’t know it herself.

Not to mention Breha didn’t think, in her personal opinion, the two _worked_ together. Worked together like couples were supposed to work.

She’d seen Nana Leia and Papa Han; they argued a lot and loved a little too much and knew each other like the back of their hand. Then there was Aunt Rose and her boyfriend Armitage Hux; they were the same—lot’s of arguing and bickering, but there was no doubt Hux loved the woman. Always leaving her notes and messages, expressing his love. Both couples were bitter and sweet, and would do anything for each other in a heartbeat. They chose to be with one another—

_“He annoys me to the point I want to smoother a pillow in his face,” Nana Leia confessed when Papa Han pushed a joke too far, to the point she scowled and he got the memo to walk away before she said something she’d regret, “but I can’t picture nor do I want to be with anyone else. Love is a feeling, but it is also a choice, Breha-Love. You make the choice to love the person you make your partner. Who to share your life with.”_

Breha wasn’t too sure if her dad could love someone like _that_.

Yes, he loved her—his daughter—but that was different.

As stupid as it sounded, she wasn’t too sure if her dad could share. To share his life, to share his home, to share _her_ , his daughter, with someone else. Her dad was protective and selective to a fault; his way or the high way were unspoken mottos of Ben Solo. When he did date, he never let his girlfriends meet her and when she was babysat, he had thorough background checks—even on people he’d known since he was a child. All of his choices regarding her and his life were thoughtful and within reason—Ben Solo did not to make missteps and he went out of his way to make sure nothing veered their lives off course.

And Breha had seen his ten year plan. Hung up in his office, on the wall behind his desk. Proud and in careful calligraphy.

A marriage or relationship was not included at all, but the top ten universities he planned to suggest to her when the time came were listed.

To put simply, he’d been on his own for so long, being with another might just not be in the cards for him.

Understandably, Breha felt bad for thinking such thoughts.

And Rey…well Rey accepted every opportunity placed before her. Anywhere the job happened to be, she’d go. She was thirty and already traveled to various places around the world and had received more accolades then most achieve in half their life alone.

In Breha’s eyes, Rey looked like she was escaping the ability to build a life. Leaving before too many roots could be planted in her presence.

The girl tried not to be too disheartened by the pattern in Rey’s life. For all she knew, Yavin Academy of the Arts was just a pitstop. A momentary pause until a better opportunity came along.

Furthermore, Breha knew the truth would break them apart rather than cleave the two together.

Gaga eyes were not enough to patch the hurt she knew would come if either ever found out.

* * *

“You are insane!” Rey whined into the kiss. Firm, needing, and rushed; quenching a thirst. Understandably so, considering the last time they necked like fumbling teenagers was nearly a week ago. In the same manner: behind her car and ducked out of Breha’s view to gain some semblance of privacy. “She can see us!”

“No, she can’t,” Ben muttered, a fraction away from her. His body pressed to hers, she feeling the comfort and thrill of his weigh against her. Hands sliding down from his neck to his side, Rey’s arms wound around his middle, holding him as close as possible. Just them, together in the crisp early November air. “The garage blocks her view from the living room,” his lips nipped in the underside of her jaw, down her neck in a tantalizing drag, “we are _fine_.”

“Ben,” she half sighed, half ordered, “as much as I enjoy making-out in your driveway,” his muffled laugh danced across her skin, a subconscious giddy grin forming on her lips, “I’d prefer if we were able to do this elsewhere…”

He pulled back, eyes mildly dazed. With a careful hand, he tucked a loose hair back behind her ear. “And where do you suggest, considering we still don’t want Breha to know? About us. About what we know…”

Rey groaned, dropping her head against his shoulder.

For the last few weeks, they’d been attempting…Rey actually wasn’t too sure what they’d been attempting.

Because yes, they liked each other. Yes, they slept together and made-out like horny teenagers in his driveway. Yes, neither were great at the ‘relationship’ thing; both had terrible track records to prove it. And yes, she was his daughter’s teacher and technically her biological mother, and those two facts complicated their lives immensely.

But damn, she’d be a fool to not say she was falling for him more and more with each passing day. Those warm, honey brown eyes shining with understanding and care. She always heard the term ‘swoon worthy’ unable to apply the idea to any of the men in her life.

Until Ben.

Because _yes_ , that man was swoon worthy and that was just his eyes alone.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled into his shoulder, “I just…I just don’t want her to hate me.”

“I don’t think Breha is capable of hating anyone.”

“You say that but…teenage girls are capable of hate, even the uncapable ones.” Her nose bumped his gently, hands combing back his flopping hair delicately behind his ear. She knew he grew out his hair to hide his ears, due to old insecurities and habits embedded into his being. But she liked his ears, often finding herself tucking his hair away to see them in their glory. “I was one and I work with them every day; teenage girls have a plethora of emotions, some they don’t even understand.”

“Your point?”

“Don’t discredit Breha’s emotions as nothing just yet,” Rey urged, knowing there was more going on in the girl’s head than met the eye, “because…because what if she doesn’t like the idea of us?”

“Then she’ll have to get use to it.”

Ben’s answer was simple. As though the entire situation was _simple_. Not Earth shattering or monumental. Just a simple little situation people go through in their mundane lives.

Just as she was about to argue otherwise, Ben’s lips lingered on her temple. “Rey, how do you ever expect her to accept you _are_ her mother if you refuse to give her the opportunity to know you and see you as anything beyond a teacher or a family friend?”

“I thought we agreed we aren’t telling her _that_ part.”

Since Ben discovered the truth of Breha’s parentage, Rey became more than a little paranoid. Nights were sleepless, days were filled with panicked daydream scenarios, and every time she looked at the girl—

Rey swore, sometimes she felt Breha knew.

Knew the truth.

And was just not say anything.

But then again that was her paranoia talking, working up to the whazoo. She hadn’t felt it this bad since…since she in her late teens. So caught up in baseline surviving and passing her classes after cutting off all her ties to Palpatine.

Warm hands rubbed up and down her arms, his honey brown eyes locked on her. “And we’re not,” he slouched a little, closer to her level, “I promise. But that doesn’t mean we need to keep everything under wraps.”

She hummed; not quite in agreement, but not disagreeing with him. “I’m just…afraid. For many reasons. Not _just_ the Breha reason…but the _you_ —the _us_ reason. Because I l…”

Her eyes searched his, hoping he understood. She couldn’t say the words, no matter how hard she tried.

And she _tried_.

During sex, mid thrust when her thoughts were only him. During dinner, when Breha left for the restroom and it was just them fighting over the last egg roll. During their Saturday morning coffee, when the world seemed still.

Rey could never get the words out. And it wasn’t that she wasn’t ready to say them. She was; she could feel it in her bones.

But she never said the words to anyone.

Not to her granddad, nor any previous fleeting boyfriends, or friends.

To say it felt like giving away a piece of herself; a piece of herself she didn’t know she possessed until recently.

His face softened, a light in the darkness of the night. “I know. Don’t be afraid. I feel it too.”

Heart full, she surged forward, bringing him into another kiss.

And another, and another, until her arms and legs were weightless and all she could think about was him and the right now.

* * *

Half past ten, Ben knocked on Breha’s door. A sharp rap, clear enough for her to hear.

But one she was ignoring. The light shinning under the door was evidence enough, the room usually dimmer when she went to bed, the nightlight—the one she claimed she didn’t need, but cried out in protest when he nearly removed it—duller than the warm yellow burning bright.

“Hey, kiddo,” he called out, “can we have a little chat.”

“I’m asleep,” came her response from the other side of the door.

His brows pinched together, knowing his daughter to less than perfect with her lies. “If you were asleep, you would not be talking to me like you are now.”

“Then…you woke me up. So now I am going back to sleep.”

“Breha—I’m serious, I need to talk to you. And if you don’t let me in, I’m going to just com—”

The door swung open, Breha staring up at him imploringly. “Yes, Dad?”

She was dressed for bed, a flannel pajama set and fuzzy socks clad to her feet. Her hair was a light blue color, the vibrant blue gone. He knew she was planning on dyeing it again, he accompanying her to the store to purchase red hair dye.

He kept his mouth shut on the matter. It was a phase and he’d let her get it out of her system, while handling his mother’s squawking over the matter. She liked Breha’s chestnut locks, braiding them and teaching Ben how to make different styles when his baby girl finally had a head full of hair.

He fucked up more than once, getting knots and tangles. Scissors, overly floral scented detangle spray, and various sized combs became his best friends. After some trial and error, he learned. Like he did with everything—winging it until it came naturally.

But Breha was growing up, and growing up meant styling her own hair. Cutting and dyeing her head of hair however she pleased.

“Can we sit down?”

She shrugged, climbing into bed. Usually he’d reprimand her for staying up past ten, their designated bed time, but he decided to let the matter slide by. Her being up saved him from worrying over their impending conversation through the night.

Ben followed her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Old childhood blankets were stretched across her bed, Breha always a nester and tendency coming into full fruition in the winter. A teddy bear pattered laid closer to her while one of Disney Princesses was kicked further away by the foot of the bed.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, silence stretching longer than comfortable for both.

Clearing his throat, his gaze landed back on her. “Right, uh,” he scratched the back of his head, blinking wide; the mental script he created flew from his mind the moment he stepped into her room, “um…I just want to—to talk about Ms. Williams—well, uh, Rey.” He coughed into his shoulder before facing Breha with some mock bravery. “Yeah, I wanted to talk about Rey.”

Breha’s brows pinched together. “What about her?”

“Well, what do you think about her?”

Her eyes narrowed, hugging her blanket closer to her chest. “What do I _think_ about her?”

“Yeah,” Ben leaned back on his hands, an attempt of nonchalance, “what do you think?”

“She’s cool,” Breha said with a shrug, more focused on the loose thread of her teddy bear blanket rather than him. “She likes art. Doesn’t know a lot of movies, but she’s cool.” Her lips pursed, unsure. “I guess. I mean, sure. Yeah, she’s cool.”

Ben’s eyebrows jumped; Breha had never been so lackluster about Rey. Her self-proclaimed favorite teacher.

Yes, his daughter was moody, sarcastic, and occasionally shy around her peers, but not despondent. An opinion often resided on the tip of her tongue, though she kept it to herself until she could spill her guts to him in private.

They told each other everything. At least within reason in his case. Her couldn’t have her worry over adult matters she had no reason to be concerned with in the first place.

“Come on,” he nudged her playfully, “you can tell me how you really feel about her.”

Wiggling deeper into her blankets, she frowned. No words followed. Aimlessly, she pulled at the loose thread. Again.

He was half tempted to swat her hand away.

Reminding himself to be patient and not demand her to answer—this was supposed to be a ‘casual’ conversation—Ben exhale a full breath. Calming himself, calming his nerves.

However his breathing came out more like confused, deep laugh.

Breha’s frown slouched further.

Ben crossed and then uncrossed his arms, unsure of what to do with them. “I thought you liked Rey.”

“I do,” Breha blurted out, hugging a pillow to her chest, “ _I do_. I just—just _why_ are we talking about this?” Her bright hazel eyes locked on him, a glimpse of ferocious in the freckles of green, brown, and gold. “Why does any of this matter!”

In a strange turn of events, Ben found himself outside of her walls.

“I’m asking because I want to know—”

“But _why_?” Breha demanded, her grasp tight on the pillow.

“Because—because,” Ben stuttered to say the right thing and not blurt out the entire truth, “because I like her, Breha.”

“ _And_?” she implored, still not seeing the point. Or rather, refusing to see the obvious. “She’s your friend, of course you like her.”

A tired sigh escaped under his breath, locking weariness into his bones. “I like her as more than a friend, kiddo.”

Breha blinked.

Her eyes widened as the implication set firmly in her mind.

“ _Oh_.”

“Breha, I just want to know if you’d be okay with me maybe seeing Rey romant—”

“It’s _your_ life,” she snapped, voice rough and agitated, “do whatever you want. You don’t need to ask for my permission, _Dad_.” Rolling her eyes, she flopped on her back. Covers were thrown over her head, she curling herself into a ball. “But for the record, I don’t think she likes you in _that_ way.”

Ben gapped at the lump that was his daughter.

“Kiddo, I know you have never been fond of past girlfriends—”

“Kaydel was weird and I don’t think that one date with the pottery girl counts as a girlfriend,” Breha shot back, her words muffled from under the blankets.

Ben rolled his eyes. “What I’m trying to say is, I like Rey and I am positive she likes me back despite what you may think otherwise. And we are pursuing a romantic relationship—”

_“You guys are dating?”_

Blankets were thrown back, Breha sitting up at attention.

“Bu—but you two cannot date?”

“Why not?” Ben reached down and picked up the thrown down teddy bear blanket. “Is it because she’s your teacher? She’s not going to be your teacher forever, and as far as I am aware there is nothing against a parent and teacher dating—”

“You two just—just _can’t_!” Breha declared, arms flailing. “Becau—Because it doesn’t make sense! You two would never work out!”

“And how do you know that Breha?” Ben asked, more offended than he expected. Then again he expected his daughter to be calm and accepting of the news, not throwing a borderline tantrum.

Her eyes lit up in fury, arms crossed stubbornly over her chest. Just like his were.

“Because I just do! I know you and I know Rey, and you two would end up getting frustrated and annoyed with each other! Why would you get into a risky relationship—there is no point to it!”

“Because—” Ben began voice booming. Breha slumped a fraction at his raised voice, though did not cower. She wasn’t frightened of him—probably would never be truly, unless she pulled some stupid shit. “—Because Breha, when you care deeply about someone, they are worth the risk. Worth the risk of getting your heart broken, of them upending your life because…because sometimes if it is meant to be, that person makes your world better. Makes your world brighter.”

She scoffed. “That’s cheesy.”

“It’s the truth,” Ben answered. “And I am not asking for your permission Breha, I am _telling_ _you_ Rey is going to be part of our lives. Hopefully for a long time.”

The girl sunk back into her blankets, once again despondent. “But…but what if she’s not? What if—what if something happens and she decides she doesn’t like us anymore?”

His heart broke at the genuine, trembling fear in her voice.

Breha cared for Rey more than she let on, both a comforting and concerning revelation.

Scooting over until he was laying beside Breha, Ben nudged her.

She wiggled over, less than enthused.

“Kiddo, I doubt anything will make Rey leave or hate us.”

“But _what if_?”

“Then that is a ‘what if’ we will cross if it ever happens,” Ben wrapped an arm around her, hugging her. “But I don’t think it will.”

Breha didn’t hug back, frowning at him. “That’s awfully hopeful of you.”

“Well, I was named after Nana Leia’s only hope,” he said, recalling how Ben Kenobi helped her keep in touch with Luke all those years, giving her hope about having family beyond her parents, especially after their untimely deaths. “Maybe it comes with the name?”

His daughter stared at him deadpanned, unamused.

No grin.

No laugh.

His smile diminished at her lack of response.

“If that’s all you had to tell me, can you please leave?” Breha asked, flopping away from him.

“Yeah,” Ben exhaled, “yeah, kid. I will. Just give me a moment.”

Laying beside her, Ben never felt further from his daughter in his life.

Staring at her slumped form, Ben watched as her breath evened out as seconds passed by. Her light blue hair peaked out from the blanket and splayed out on the pillow. Dull and long, dark chestnut an inch down from her scalp.

His eyes lifted the walls and ceiling, her favorite art pieces hung up and covering every inch of available space. The lilac walls he painted when she went through her _purple_ - _everything_ stage when she was six were buried under layers of poster paper and various types of canvases. A couple of posters of bands and music artists he never heard of peaked through the sea of art work— _Panic! At the Disco, Halsey, Twenty One Pilots_ —a mix of dark and bright he didn’t quite understand. Fitting for her room, but replacing the posters of fairies and mermaids she ordered him to put on her walls when she younger.

Clothes littered the floor, he refraining from getting up and putting them all in the laundry. He stopped doing her laundry two years ago. But he still felt the urge to do it when he saw her clothes just thrown about. He didn’t want to hear her complain in a couple of days how she didn’t have any clothes to wear.

Stacks of books sat unread. A few from their last trip to their bookstore, more than three months ago, forgotten in the chaos of her room. Of her life.

He always encouraged her to read. She loved it.

But it seemed she loved it a lot less these days.

Her nightstand had her lamp and her sketchbook.

And that was it.

Their picture together, the one when she went to Disneyland for her eleventh birthday, was gone. They wore matching Mickey Mouse shirts and ears, she grinning brightly at the camera with her hair in perfect braids, just like how his mother taught him. He even smiled for the picture, not usually keen to do so. But he’d do so for Breha.

He’d do anything for his kid, just to make her happy.

But seeing her now…he wasn’t too sure what made her happy.

When did his little girl slip through his fingers and into her own world—a world where he was no longer allowed?

* * *

Breha was avoiding her.

Rey knew it.

She didn’t need to ask the girl, she just knew by her tactics.

Skipping lunch in the art room, hanging out in the quad area before the school day, her quietness while she waited for Ben to pick her up. By the third day she was having enough, knowing Ben spoke with Breha after she left that Saturday night.

“She’s a teenager, Rey,” Poe reminded her during lunch. After his less than stellar fortieth birthday, he made an effort to go out to lunch with Rey once a week and started to make it a habit to hang out at the Solo house on Sundays. Neither Rey or Ben commented on this change to their friend, but did discuss in private.

_“It’s guilt.”_

_“Maybe it was a wakeup call.”_

_“No Rey, it’s guilt. That bastard wears it well.”_

“Breha might not be all for the idea of another woman in Ben’s life,” Poe suggested, serious for once. “It has been her and Ben for her entire life. She might subconsciously feel threatened, despite the fact she likes you. You are no longer just her teacher and sort-of-friend. You’d become ‘Dad’s Girlfriend,’” he explained, using air quotation marks. “And that is…a lot for a kid to swallow.”

“Look at you, putting that psychology degree to use,” she teased, poking her fork at him. Her Mediterranean salad looked up at her sad, hardly touched with her gut of worry. “But maybe you are right about the whole threatened mentality…I never thought of it that way.”

“Breha is an emotional kid, she just channels it into her art.”

“Healthy.”

“Right,” Poe nodded once, voice teetering against the word, “or not. Means she is not great at communicating with her words. Which cannot be great in situations like this.”

Rey found herself humming in agreement as she stabbed her salad. Spearing a piece of chicken, she shoved it into her mouth. Chewing, she considered what Poe was trying to say.

Breha liked her.

But Breha also didn’t like her.

A strange cacophony of relieved joy and crushing pain set in her. Because yes, Breha liked her as a teacher and friend, but then she didn’t like her as her father’s girlfriend. Who was to say she’d end up loathing her when she discovered the truth?

“Whoa, this is nothing to cry over, Rey,” Poe passed her a napkin. She hadn’t even been aware of the tears flowing freely from her eyes. “Teenagers are teenagers. And Breha is one of the best, but she’s going to need some time and I am pretty sure she’ll get over you dating Ben,” he added with an eyeroll, “oh and when you and Ben do get married—because you two _will_ —I am taking credit for all of it, because I have been trying to make this shit happen for years and I am not going to have this victory snatched away from me.”

She snorted—

And then crumpled into more tears.

“Fuck, I didn’t know marriage was a trigger for you—”

“It’s not that, it’s not that.” Rey waved his off. She blew her nose into the crumpled napkin, the noise making Poe wince. “I just…” she blinked furiously, looking back at him. Charming, cleaned up Poe, who acted like an idiot on a daily basis, but was somehow a practicing psycho-therapist. “How did you know I had a baby?”

“What?” He uttered, the words barely registering.

“At your fortieth you mentioned I had a baby I gave for adoption and talked about my grandfather—”

“Palpatine is an asshole,” he interjected, knowing a few stories of her childhood she willingly relinquished.

“I know he is,” she said, brushing away the deflection, “but how did you know? About the baby?”

He stared back at her, eyes shining in remorse. Regret. Shame. All scattered across his carefully made up mask of joy and light. “I…I may have done some snooping around your house when I went through that break-up…”

Her hands stilled. Crumpled napkin fell from her hand.

“You _what_?”

“I was curious,” he confessed, head drooping low in shame. His voice however, was strong and unapologetic. “A woman I have known for years, one I consider like a little sister, is still sometimes the greatest mystery to me. She adores children, yet claims she doesn’t want any of her own. Avoids all romantic relationships at all costs. Throws herself into work to seemingly fill this void she has in her life, like it is some balm for the choices she made in the past. And you have that baby picture, and knowing how Palpatine was to you…it doesn’t take a genius to put all the pieces together…”

“I’m your _friend_ , not some psycho-analysis project!”

“It was never like that!” Poe cried out.

A few of the other patrons in the restaurant glanced their way, curious.

Frowning, he lowered his voice. “I just did some research here and there and it doesn’t help I know Kenobi is your other grandfather and runs the largest adoption agency on this side of the country…” Poe looked back up at her, honest but not accusing, “I just happened to be in a position where I saw all the pieces and was reckless enough to put them all together.”

Her gut dropped. “Put _what_ together, Poe?”

He sighed, scrubbing at his face. “Ben has been my best friend forever—hell, I’m Breha’s godfather—”

Rey’s jaw dropped, eyes wide. “Oh my god, you _knew_.”

“I just thought ‘maybe’,” Poe said quickly, loosing his cool for a fraction of a second, “because she always looked like you and it bothered the shit out of me, because _why the fuck does my goddaughter look like Rey_?” He shook his head, leaning back. “But then when asked Ben about the adoption, he said it was closed and he didn’t know the mother and—”

“How long have you known?” she spat, hands gripping the table.

“I don’t think that is import—”

“How. _Long_?” she stressed, leaning forward.

“In theory, five years. In strong actuality, maybe two?” He winced, face crumpling. “Please…please tell me you don’t hate me. You’re one of my best friends and I can’t lose you because of something like this.”

“I—” she swallowed air, leaning back in her chair, “I don’t hate you Poe. But I don’t fucking like you right now.” A new wave of tears pinched behind her eyes. “Why…why didn’t you ever say anything? To me? To Ben? To Breha? Why keep it to yourself?”

“Because it’s not my place to tell.”

“But it is your place to know?” she shot back.

“Yeah because,” he shrugged, smaller than before; all bravado and sureness gone, “because you and Ben are…are like family. I needed to know because I care about you guys and Breha. A lot. I don’t care about anybody else the way I care about you guys. It just took me a while to see that.”

Chewing her bottom lip, Rey nodded, not yet trusting her voice. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to push her anger away. Yet the boiling and sick feeling remained. “Did you try to set Ben and I up because of Breha? To make us some happy little family, because you knew the truth?”

“No,” Poe assured her, “I always wanted to set you up with Ben because I thought you two would be perfect for each other. I thought this before I knew anything.”

“Okay,” Rey breathed. “Okay.”

There was nothing else she could think or say.

* * *

“Remember everyone, we have our Fall Showcase this Friday. I want to see the finished products in my classroom by the end of the day tomorrow!” Rey called out as her Painting 2 students packed up their belongings. The end of the school day bell echoing down the halls, a few girls rushing out before Rey gave the official okay to leave. Several students followed their cue, a bottleneck at the door.

Breha lingered behind, taking her time putting away her materials.

Rey saw this as an opportunity.

“Hey, Bre,” she greeted, bumping the girl’s shoulder with her own. Breha didn’t react, more focused on drying the brushes on her worktable. “I’m excited to see your piece—it’s the galaxy one right?”

“I’m actually going to bring the sunset piece instead, the one from class a few weeks back,” Breha said, eyes locked on the worktable.

Rey blinked, surprised by the sudden change. “Oh, but it thought you wanted to share the galaxy one—with the mother and child? You’ve been working on it for weeks.”

“Has my Dad been telling you that?” Breha shot back. She bypassed Rey, taking her cup of dirty water to the sink in the back of the room.

“Uh, no. He hasn’t,” Rey said carefully. Grabbing a few of the classroom brushes, she followed Breha to the sink. “I know this because _you’ve_ been telling me about your progress. At least you had been up until this week.”

The girl stilled, the cool water running over her hands. “Well…I decided I want to keep for myself instead of for the art show.”

“May I ask why? It’s your best work. It shouldn’t be hidden away in your room.”

“Because I just want to, _okay_!” Breha grumbled under her breath, shutting off the water sharply. “You don’t have to question me like Dad just because you are dating him! You are _not_ my mom and I don’t _want_ a mom!”

Each word was a stab in the gut. Twisted and cruel, the words knowing exactly how to jab at her vital organs and cause her entire being to silently wheeze in pain.

Air was knocked out of Rey, no words or thoughts able to filter though her.

But what made it worse was Breha’s face.

Hurt, confusion, and anger smeared like violets, blues, reds—an abstract painting coming to life. Breha, ashamed with herself, over her quick tongued words.

Horrified, the girl dropped the cup in the sink and dashed out of the room, barely making a stop to grab her backpack on the way out.

Rey stared at where Breha stood.

Pain settled into awestruck realization.

_Breha knew._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of my favorite scenes I have written thus far in this fic are in this chapter :) We really get into Ben, Rey, and Breha's heads about this situation.
> 
> To clarify there are two 'galleries'--one of the Yavin students, which will be next chapter. And one later, that is Rey's professional gallery showing.
> 
> WOW, so a lot happened. And a lot was sort of revealed. Ekkk. And before anyone gets upset with Breha...she is a teenager and is really confused about how she feels about everything and she isn't talking about it with ANYONE. Girl feels maybe a tad bit trapped in her mind right now.
> 
> Next chapter we will meet an important character...his name might be one Sheev Palpatine.


	10. A Second Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter, but I don't think anyone will complain.
> 
> Mind the tags. Reminder: Palpatine is an asshole.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later! Enjoy.

* * *

_**A Second Chance** _

* * *

** R.K. Williams < rk.williams@holo.com > **

**RE Subject: (none)**

****

**_Stop emailing me._ **

****

**_I will inform the authorities of this harassment._ **

****

**_I have copies and I have every intention on turning them in as evidence if you continue._ **

****

****

* * *

****

Almost fifteen years since she ran away, Rachel was still a thorn in Sheev Palpatine’s side.

Ignoring his emails.

Threatening him with something as mundane as emails, as though it could withstand his own resources.

Her hostility was both welcomed and surprising. Rachel had always been quite, shy, and intelligent. As a child she was mild mannered, attempting to please him. On time for every occasion, taking care of her chores before he needed to question on the completion of her tasks. She never complained, she never yelled, and tantrums were not welcomed in their household.

Many times he questioned if she was a Palpatine at all. If the Kenobi woman his son shacked up with perhaps had an affair or someone on the side, claiming the babe to be his rather than any other’s miscreation.

Thankfully a DNA test put his worries to bed, he relieved to discover she was indeed a Palpatine who simply possessed a bit too much of the Kenobi placidness in her. Unnecessarily kind, always stopping to drop off change for beggars in the streets when they were out and about. She’d write little stories and thank you notes to her teachers and instructors, not understanding it was their _job_ to help her. Not their choice.

She never seemed to understand that aspect about life; no one was her friend. Nobody wanted to _be_ her friend, and those who were her so-called ‘friends—though there were little who held such a title, the silly girl a loner—were only her friends because of her family connections.

No one cared about her. Not her parents, not even himself, truly.

She only had herself. That’s all anybody in had in the godforsaken world.

Better for her to understand at a young age rather than let her hopeless and futile fantasies carry on like an eyesore of a weed.

Then somewhere along the way she was less mild manner, and more so less willing to please.

Rachel apparently had a mind of her own in that little head of hers and fought.

Constantly.

Not with him, of course. Too clever to not but heads with him. The girl knew how to weigh her options.

But fights in school. Late elementary and middle school were a nightmare.

She’d talk back to teachers, and get into verbal spars with her peers. Detention was a common occurrence no matter which town they happened to be in that quarter of the year. She’d come home with perfectly failed exams. That one got to him because it proved just how brilliant the girl could be if she was so willing—she’d _purposely_ choose the wrong answer to receive the unfortunate score.

Year after year the state testing revealed she had one of the top scores in the country, but she acted like it was nothing. A child genius with an apparent humbleness.

Or rather a lack of self-esteem.

A pity. Really.

Rachel was a mastermind in the making if anything.

Then she had to fucking become an _artist_.

A lousy one at that too.

Nothing noteworthy. Just paint splatters and colors blending together to make an image. Anyone with half a braincell could fucking paint. Lots of depressing and silly pieces of plants and families. No one cared for such, the girl only receiving praise from the kooky and far too cheery art teachers.

Furthermore, she had to be all bohemian, full of a rebellious fury. All her perfectly tailored clothes were thrown out and on multiple occasions he received phone calls of Rachel violating her private school’s dress code. She ‘refusing to conform to the standards and be forced to wear a skirt and tie.’

A rebel without a cause, or a cause she’d rather keep to herself.

As though she could make a _difference_ with her art.

Pathetic.

At fourteen, she dyed her hair an absurd color— _blue_ of all things. Her was hair choppy, cut by her own hand. A piercing was embedded in her nose, one she placed herself. And her clothes were baggy, swallowing her entire frame. As though she wanted to disappear.

She tried to be everything and nothing at once. It made his head hurt. So he did what he had to do.

Crush her until he could make her into the young woman she was meant to be.

* * *

** R.K. Williams < rk.williams@holo.com > **

**RE Subject: (none)**

**_I don’t care about your will._ **

****

**_I want no part of it._ **

****

**_I am not even a Palpatine anymore._ **

****

**_I don’t fucking care what you do._ **

****

**_Just STOP emailing me._ **

* * *

He’d been handling matters in a pleasant and nonpartial way.

Email was the easiest. He’d make a new email address once she blocked one and continued the cycle.

Keep her aware he was around. Alive, for however god deemed willing.

Let her know that she could not run away from her past. No one could.

Because he was still there, waiting until she came running back to her real family. To him, who provided her everything and had the gall the shun him and him out of her life.

A Palpatine was good at two things: fixing what was broken and being patient.

* * *

** S.Palpatine < sheev.palp@em-pire.com > **

**RE Subject: (none)**

**_Rachel,_ **

****

**_If you will not respond to me in a timely fashion, I will have to seek you by my own means._ **

****

**_Urgent means urgent, young lady._ **

****

**_Be cooperative and hear me out. Or else I will need to take measures neither you nor anyone else will be pleased to contend with._ **

****

**_Sheev Palpatine_ **

****

* * *

He wasn’t an idiot.

He knew his granddaughter was pregnant.

This wasn’t the first secret pregnancy he had discovered, one former Senator Amidala coming to mind. He’d been an information Amidala and a mentor Skywalker, knowing well the affair and subsequent secret marriage between the two. He’d been one of the first to know of the twins and their birth.

He also had been first to know Amidala and Skywalker planned to become public with their relationship despite Amidala’s differing political stance. Unfortunately she passed due to unforeseen heart failure before any announcement could be made and her poor lover fell into insanity.

At least, that was what the media painted.

He planned to address the matter of his granddaughter’s pregnancy; plans were already set in motion. Take the child as his own, brush the event under the rug. Claim he adopted the child, an orphan, from the goodness of his heart.

Keep their image clean. No one would need to know his granddaughter was a teen pregnancy statistic.

He simply did not expect Rachel to run away.

* * *

** R.K. Williams < rk.williams@holo.com > **

**RE Subject: (none)**

**_If you attempt to reach out to me in person, I will not hesitate on a restraining order._ **

****

** S.Palpatine < sheev.palp@em-pire.com > **

**RE Subject: (none)**

**_Rachel,_ **

****

**_My dear, you forget I am friends with many authorities._ **

****

**_A restraining order will never go through._ **

****

**_Please, stop embarrassing yourself. It is unbecoming._ **

****

**_Sheev Palpatine_ **

****

****

* * *

A good fourteen years later, a couple of private investigators, and several pay offs, Palpatine finally found _the girl_.

And she was under his nose the entire time.

Breha Padme Solo.

Named after the esteemed Senator Bail Organa’s wife, Breha, and the tragic Senator Padme Amidala. A name with two strong, influential women who were forces to be reckoned with. Greatness was resting upon with such names, he felt a twinge of pride at the sight.

His girl was destined for brilliance.

The last name however…

_Solo_.

As in Han Solo and Leia Organa. Or rather their loose cannon son, Ben.

A once troubled young man with a plethora of mental health issues, all pushed under the rug. Out of sight, out of mind, as they like to say. With any other agency, his application would never be given a second glance. A single man, on the cusp of twenty-five, with a decent job, but diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety, along with a brief stint in a mental institution due to self-harm and anger management.

A risky choice, if any.

Sheev laughed at the choice once reality settled.

Kenobi was playing the cruelest joke placing a Palpatine under the care of a Skywalker. Bad blood lingered between the families, the twins—Luke and Leia—despising him, the latter working her best to ruin his image during her own politician days. Claimed he, a military hero and highest regarded consultant for multiple government officials, had been involved in unsavory dealings.

It was as though the woman had some utopian ideal of the government.

To know his great-granddaughter had no doubt been exposed to such hopeful and naive ideology…it concerned him.

In fact, several details concerned him about his great-granddaughter’s upbringing.

From the radical Skywalker family, to Ben Solo’s fringed mental state, to the fact she was not raised by her own flesh and blood. To the chaotic lifestyle the younger Solo placed on the girl; she hardly had a schedule outside of the school day. She glued to his side, as though she were still an infant, absurdly co-dependent on the man. At with Rachel he could say she was independent by the age of seven, knowing how to cook her own meals when left alone or under the care of who ever had the luck of the draw that particular day.

But what made this sting—all of this was done without his consent.

All this done because Rachel did not know how to respect him.

He knew he had to do something about the matter; it was his right.

Better late than never.

* * *

Breha was an artist.

Like her mother.

But _better_.

A true talent, not some ill attempted guise.

He knew it by the sunset portrait. Colors of purple, burnt yellow, and orange illuminating in a undeniably fascinating creation.

Beauty captured on canvas.

He spotted her—Breha, in the flesh—lingering by her highlighted work. The high school, Yavin School of the Arts, was prestigious and only accepted the best of the best. He’d been surprised to see Rachel obtain a teaching position, but expected no less from Breha to be within the school’s hallowed halls. She seemed less than thrilled to be there, a forced smile on her lips. Dressed in a simple black dress, becoming and suitable for a girl her age, she held herself calm and professionally. Like her namesakes. Her hair was down, dark brown locks matching Rachel’s peeking from the top, but a dreaded blue coated the bottom half.

More like her mother than he anticipated it seemed.

Solo nor Skywalker was seen around her, no doubt perusing the other art work on display. Or perhaps late to the Fall Art Show; it was less than a half hour into the three hour event.

And Rachel was nowhere to be seen.

A blessed and disheartening fact.

“My dear,” he addressed the girl, garnering her attention, “are you the artist?”

Her hazel eyes lit up a fraction, pleased by the unexpected attention. “Yes, I am.”

“Well, I must say you are a true and natural talent. Perhaps the best here.”

“Uh, thank you,” she stuttered out, seemingly not accustom to praise. Or humble. Another little tid-bit she gained from her mother. “That’s kind of you, but I’m not the best. Plenty of wonderful artists are here, and art is technically subjective. Eye of the beholder and all. So it is an honor to know in your eyes my work is considered the best.”

He could tell by the one instance she had a tendency to over explain herself.

_Not_ a quality of Rachel’s.

_“I’m not much of a politician. I actually hate politics, so I wouldn’t count on it ever being in my life. Besides my mother of course, because she’s a politician. Not that there is anything wrong being a politician. I just don’t think it is for me.”_

_“And what is?”_

_The fourteen year old boy shrugged, the suit looking ill-fitting on his lanky frame. “Uh…maybe accounting?”_

_“Do you think that, or does your mother think that?”_

_The boy scowled, a deep darkness nestled within him. “Why does that matter?”_

_Palpatine gave the young Solo an empty smile. The boy accompanied his mother for the brunch, a smoochy event for a charity commissioned by a Senator he was casual ‘friends’ with. He was surprised to find Organa amongst the guests, but gave the woman a polite greeting and she the same. No hostility was needed; it was a charity event after all. “Just a question.”_

_“Well don’t ask it.” The boy walked off, grumbling under his breath, fists tucked at his sides._

_Watching him walk away, Palpatine swore he saw the shadow of a young Anakin Skywalker lingering over the boy._

Of course Breha would pick up a few ticks and habits from the man. It was only natural.

“Don’t sell yourself short. Talent is a quality to embrace. Embrace it.”

She grinned at the remark, nodding to herself.

A sudden pang hit his chest at the gesture.

_Breha and Rachel’s smiles were the same._

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t catch your name,” Breha said, eyes kind. Too kind.

That wouldn’t do. But alas, he could fix her.

“You can call me Mr. Sidious.” He leaned a bit more on his cane, the standstill making his old legs restless. “Would you mind helping me walk around the gallery? My gait is not want it use to be,” he teased.

“Of course, sir. I’d be happy to help.” Grasping his free arm, she gently led him to the other showcased pieces. With the next piece she gave her own explanation and synopsis, pausing for his own opinions.

He didn’t need to pay attention to know none of the other artwork was to Breha’s caliber. An unsurprising fact.

Rachel may have failed him, but perhaps Breha could be his second chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't it fun how with every POV we get into we learn something about the other characters?
> 
> Like the fact Ben has some mental health things going on and Rey was basically a child genius but hated it? And the fact SHE WAS IN CONTACT (SORT OF) WITH PALPATINE?
> 
> NO NARRATOR IS RELIABLE IN THIS FIC! Mwahahahahahahaha.
> 
> Palpatine is the worst. We'll get more of him and all of our other characters next chapter. But I am sure this is the ONLY chapter we will get from his POV.


	11. Between Us, As a Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the wait--life got busy and this chapter was a bit of a tough one to write!
> 
> Warning: Implied stalking mentioned in this chapter.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Enjoy :D

* * *

**_Between Us, As a Family_ **

* * *

Shoulder to shoulder, the three sat together.

Waiting.

Waiting for someone to speak after the atrocious yelling match still echoing in the walls of their minds and the walls of the women’s restroom.

“Breha,” Ben began, quiet yet consuming, “you are grounded.”

“But Dad—”

“No,” his thick voice sliced through. “No. You—you went behind my back, sought out information after I explicitly told you we could seek your birth mother after your eighteenth birthday, and you manipulated everyone around you.” He swallowed, a glisten of helplessness in his eyes. “You are grounded, Breha. No internet, no television, no clubs. And if you play your cards right, maybe I won’t remove you from Yavin.”

Rey’s eyes snapped shut.

_“You will not busy yourself with these silly little art projects.”_

“Let’s—Let’s not be too haste on that one. Alright?”

Ben’s gaze jumped to her, livid flames in his honey brown eyes.

“I’m sorry but you don’t get to have a say in this,” Ben told her point blank. “She’s _my_ daughter and _I_ decide what is best for her and _I_ decided her punishment.” Each phrase snipped and snapped, his own tangled heart of disappointment a messy ball of yarn in the light of Rey and Breha.

Clearing his throat, he pushed himself off the muted, tiled floor.

“Come on,” he held his hand out to Breha, “I’m sure he is now long gone. Security was removing him earlier.”

Eyes downcast, Breha grasped her father’s hand and allowed him to help her up.

Rey remained on the floor. Small, impish, and too scorned to fight with empty heat. So she tried sympathy, a gentleness she was not equipped with, but knew to be somewhere inside her if she just tried hard enough. “Ben—"

“We said we’d tell her together.,” His eyes found hers, hurt twisted in a vat of mistrust. “Together, Rey.”

“I didn’t tell her—she knew. I told you I thought she already knew. And _he_ told her.”

“But you fucking blurted it out for the entire gallery to hear!” He huffed, a broken edge to his lone hunch. “This moment—where we talked to Breha about this, whether she knew or not—was meant to be private. Between us, as a family. And you and that bastard robbed us of that important moment.”

Rey floundered, stung by the blame he placed upon her. “He was here—he wasn’t supposed to be here—”

Ben shook his head, not wanting to listen.

“You lost your temper and it cost you. That’s consequence, Rey—”

“Stop talking down to me like I am some child!”

“Well maybe you are!” Ben shot back. “You sure act like one. Part of you is still that fifteen year old girl, running away and burying her mistakes because she doesn’t want to accept responsibility or better yet, reality.”

His words felt like a cold slap.

For a moment, Rey forgot how to breathe.

“Dad,” Breha warned, too shaken by his coarse bitterness.

A faint twitch of tension eased off of him.

“I—I care deeply about you, Rey. I probably always will. But I don’t think you can be involved in Breha’s like if you are like this.”

“Ben—

“Dad—”

“Let’s go.” He opened the restroom door, ushering their daughter out.

One last glance between them—

_I’m sorry._

_I didn’t mean to ruin this._

_I don’t want to push you away._

_I love you, but Breha comes first._

_Breha always comes first._

_—_ and then the door shut closed behind her family.

* * *

_“There is no possible way for Breha to know.”_

_Rey raised an eyebrow at Ben._

_She’d been working late, putting up the final touches for her class’ Fall Art Showcase. An all-nighter was expected, this not her first time putting together the gallery room, nor would it be her last._

_What she didn’t expect was Ben showing up a little after seven with dinner for her._

_“There really isn’t—you know that.” He reminded her, sitting across from her. She dug lackluster into her food, the burger’s juice dripping on to her stained overalls. Ben winced at the sight and wordlessly passed her a napkin. “It was a closed adoption—”_

_“But we figured it out!” Rey grounded out, her mouth full. Quickly she chewed the rest of her food and swallowed, setting down her half eaten burger. “Who’s to say she hasn’t put two and two together?”_

_“With what information?”_

_Rey opened and closed her mouth, as though realizing he made a valid point._

_He knew he did._

_“I don’t know,” she confessed, “I honestly don’t know.”_

_“Then there is nothing to worry about,” Ben reasoned._

_She seemed to be at ease at his reassurance. Carefully setting her food aside, she leaned forward, entering his space and—_

“Dad, are you going to start the car?”

Ben blinked down at the steering wheel. Hands were positioned and placed to go, yet the keys remained dangling in the ignition, not once twisted to turn the car on.

Sighing, he turned on the car, the heater thankfully blasting warm air into the front seats. Sometimes the old thing would give out, the two sitting bundled up in coats and backup blanket behind the passenger seat under such circumstance. After replacing the heater they seldom ran into the problem.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel like grabbing that old fleece blanket and cocooning himself away from the world.

Away from the high school’s parking lot.

Away from Rey.

Away from his daughter.

Biting his lips together, he drove out to the main road. Silence settled between he and Breha, neither bothering to turn on the radio.

Music would only serve as a distraction and Ben wanted her to sit and actually think about her choices. How her decisions hurt others. How things could have gone terribly wrong at each angle with her recklessness.

What if Rey was cruel and washed-up?

What if Rey had been married with her own children and family? Leaving Breha as a relic of a past life?

What if Rey simply wanted nothing to do with Breha? Refused to entertain the idea of a daughter, and just flat out disregarded her as a human?

Or worse…what if Rey had been _dead_?

The mere thought sent a chill through his chest.

Breha finding out her mother was dead, by whatever means, but _on her own_. Finding out and sitting with the information _on her own_. Alone. Attempting to cope she would never know who her mother was…

Thank god that wasn’t the case. That none of his ‘what if’s were true to any degree.

But that didn’t mean their reality was ideal because his daughter still went against his word.

And Rey turned out to be far better than any scenario of Breha’s birth mother he could have conjured up in the depths of his mind.

Maybe that’s what made the situation both the best and the worst, a fact he struggled with to various degrees as the days passed.

“How were you going to tell her?”

“Excuse me?” Breha looked up from her folded hands, squinting at him. “Tell _who_ what?”

“How were you going to tell Rey you are her daughter?” Ben asked, eyes on the road and not on Breha.

If he looked at Breha he might cry, yell, or both.

Probably both.

“I…I was going to…” He heard her shift in her seat. A shuffled pull of the seatbelt as she struggled to comfortably cross her arms. “…I was going to wait until the end of the school year. Wait until she and I became close, and I was her favorite student or at least the best student, and then tell her.”

A clear cut, slow burn plan. Wait until a perfect moment—the end of the school year—and if it freaked Rey out, at least Breha had the summer to get over it. Hopefully.

Ben understood the logic of her apparent ‘plan.’

“And then you had to fuck it up, Dad.”

He choked on air.

His brain short circuited.

Did she say what he thought she said?

“Excuse me— _did you just_ —”

“Yes,” she snapped, a sudden anger bolting out of her, “I said what I said. You had to fuck it up and fall in love with her!” Breha turned to him, Ben catching a brief glimpse from the corner of his eye, and willed himself to not stop the car. To keep going and get home and start his daughter’s grounding with full force. “She was supposed to get close to me and realize what she missed out on! Having a daughter, having _me_ as her daughter! But you ruined it, Dad! You ruined it!”

“You need to check your tone, or so god help me, I will stop this car and—”

“And leave me to walk home? _Really_?”

“Stop being smartass, Breha,” he gritted out, hands clenching the steering wheel, “or Yavin is really gone and you can kiss any art school of any kind goodbye!”

She paused, hesitance flashing over her. Quietly, she considered her options.

Sighing, she sat back in her seat.

“She was supposed to be mine,” Breha mumbled a second later, a petulant pout to her lips. “Not yours. She wasn’t supposed to be your girlfriend or friend. Rey was supposed to be mine and only mine. But she probably doesn’t even want me, and only wants _you_.”

Her voice broke, a soft sob lacing the tail end of her words.

His vision blurred, Ben scrubbing each eye with one hand. He wiped away the impending tears on his thigh and kept focus on driving.

Driving was better than facing the fact he may have broken his daughter’s heart.

Because he had to let his own feelings get in the way. He had to slip up and be guy for once instead of dotting father, and perfect son, and hardworking business owner.

His daughter was right.

Ben _did_ fuck up.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Rey and I are probably not going to be seeing each other anymore. At least not while we are figuring this shit out.”

“ _Oh_.”

Sadness waved over the car, Breha slumped in her seat. Small and meek in comparison to the truck’s bench seat.

“I thought you’d be more excited to hear that,” Ben deadpanned. “You can have her all to yourself now. Get to know your mom, be buddy-buddy with her just like you wanted.”

“It doesn’t even matter,” Breha grumbled, hugging herself, “you probably won’t even let me see her anyway.”

Ben didn’t remark on _that_ statement.

But he knew he needed to address what he had long been putting off. A conversation he hoped wouldn’t need to occur until she was older, when she’d request to see her mother through the agency. Go about the matter the right way rather than through unconventional ways and breeches in privacy.

“I need you to understand something Breha,” Ben began, taking the next exit off the freeway. He couldn’t face going home; he needed to do something. Anything. Eating his weight in greasy diner food seemed like the next best option, recognizing the neon sign for _The Castle_ from the road. Right between Takodana and Ach-To. “Just because Rey is your mom doesn’t mean she is your parent.”

Breha’s brows furrowed, a tempted question on her lips, yet she refrained. Smart girl; remaining silent was undoubtedly her best option.

“Yes, she gave birth to you and has been unbelievably kind to you these last couple of months, not knowing you two are related. But she is not your mother—she didn’t raise you. She wasn’t there for your first words or first steps, and stood up late taking care of you when you were sick. _I_ did that.”

“I know,” she murmured, quiet and calm for once since they’d left the high school.

“I have been there for everything. Every single award ceremony, every troubled math problem, and every time you decided to cut your own hair off.” He snorted at the memory, a five year old Breha showing him how she cut off her own pigtails in the bathroom when he’d been washing the dishes after dinner one night. “I was there and—and she _wasn’t_.”

“That’s her fault—”

“I know,” he breathed, his heart constricting. He never spoke ill about her mythical mother and never spoke ill about Rey. He wouldn’t start now, already regretting the words he hashed out in the women’s restroom back at the gallery. “But Rey had her reasons, and it not my place to tell you what they were. She…she can tell you in her own time.”

Breha’s face became ashen. “You know why she gave me up, don’t you?”

“I do,” Ben answered immediately. He didn’t need to beat around the bush with his daughter, speaking plain got through to her easily enough. Metaphors just made things muddy and confused her, Breha one to twist his words into her own meaning from time to time. “But that’s not the point—the point is, she may be your mother and brought you into this world, but I am your father. I have been the moment you were first placed into my arms and I am the only one you are going to ever have.”

He inhaled deeply, feeling a drop of weight from his shoulders. A fear he longed possessed sat within him, not a single soul privy to his insecurities. But Breha needed to know. She needed to know she had him forever, even after he’d be long gone, she’d still have him.

Taking a left into the parking lot, he found a spot in front of the beloved diner.

Engine off and parked, he removed the keys from the ignition.

Yet neither moved.

“Whatever happens with Rey; either you and her build a relationship or…” He gave a shrug, not in the mood to entertain his and Rey’s future at the moment, “you’ll always have me, kid. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not,” he said with a hint of tease. Reaching over he ruffled her hair, wisps of light blue streaks sneaking out of her carefully crafted bun. His handywork, but a group effort, Breha handing him rubber bands and bobby pins as he put together the updo.

His daughter’s hazel eyes found his, gentleness singing apologies in the flecks of green and gold.

“I know I have you, Dad.” She rested a hand on his arm, staring up at him with a half hearted smile. “I…I never wanted to replace you or make you feel like I was…I don’t want a mom—I don’t want another parent, but you. I—I just wanted to know who she was and I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

Ben snorted. “That’s the Solo in you. Don’t tell your Papa Han.”

Breha giggled. Both knew Han Solo would claim his granddaughter was a risk taker and troublemaker because of him, applauding her then scolding her for being opportunistic.

“Come on, let’s go get something to eat,” he pushed open his door, “and discuss in detail you grounding.”

Breha groaned, but hopped out of the truck, starting to babble about blueberry waffles.

Yes, Ben was still upset.

Yes, he didn’t want to face reality—did not want to enter the era of the _after_. Because there was now a _before_ and _after_. The _after_ of Breha knowing, and making the next steps as a family on what to do about the information.

Despite such grievances, Ben no longer had the option nor the choice. All he could do was what he had been doing for the last fifteen years—support his daughter and hopefully guide her in the right direction, even if that right direction be painful.

* * *

_She’d been talking with a relative of one of her students; she could not remember if it was a cousin or an aunt, Mara introducing her larger family in quick succession. Rey struggled to follow, never been introduce to such a large family—hell, she never knew distant cousins coming for a high school art show was even a thing. She smile and nodded, making her rounds. Over the top politeness was skill she cultivated as a child. A skill to please her grandfather, to keep his sharp and prying words at bay. A skill that helped her survive in her life, she able to snap in and out of the persona with ease…yet the forced and fake gestures felt foreign on her adult skin._

_But it was part of the job, a small part of the job._

_Just as she was nodding along to some story about Mara painting as a child, Rey’s eyes caught the sight of a familiar man in the distance._

_An elderly man, cane—that goddamn cane—in hand. Well-tailored suit and tie adorned him, back ramrod straight despite his age; a military man._

_His arm was looped with another, a young girl leading him around._

_Faded blue hair—Breha._

_Breha was with him._

_Rey moved before she realized what she’d done._

_Foot after foot, step after step—into a mad dash across the room._

_She bumped into other parents and students, not giving a damn because—_

Get to Breha. Get to Breha. Get to Breha. Get to Breha. Get to Breha.

_Her low heels skidded along the porcelain floor, Rey catching her footing with each subsequent stumble._

Get to Breha. Get to Breha. Get to Breha. Get to Breha. Get to Breha.

_“Get your hands off my daughter.”_

_Her hands latched on to Breha’s closest arm. With one quick pull, she brought the girl to her side—far away as possible from him._

_Palpatine sighed; an exhausted, exasperated sigh. One echoing Rey’s nightmares well into her adulthood. One she swore she heard in reality if she let her mind linger on the past too long._

_“Rachel—”_

_She hugged Breha closer. Pressed to her chest, cradled like the delicate newborn she held once._

_“You need to get the hell out of here.” Pulse thumping her chest, her eyes remained locked on the cruel, cruel man and her grip stayed secure on Breha. Not relenting once._

_He glanced around, not bothering to grant her the decency of eye contact. Instead he regarded the people—students, faculty, families—the few who watched with intrigue, with a pathetic pout. A sympathy card he knew how to play well when needed be._

_She stepped an inch forward, once again distancing Breha from him._

_Palpatine tutted, unamused. He leaned heavily on his cane, the wood begging to snap. Begging for a fraction of release from the pressure. “My dear, you are causing a scene—”_

_“You do not get to call me ‘my dear,’” she felt Breha squirm lightly under her hold, yet Rey did not loosen her grip._

_In fact, for a split second, it may have tightened._

_Because he wasn’t going to touch her daughter if it was the last fucking thing she did._

_He shouldn’t have even touched her in the first place, getting his hand on her. Claiming her in the simplest of sense, even if it was a meager steady arm._

_“What’s going on?” Breha murmured, sounding far too childlike and too small and too frightened._

_“Rachel, you’re scaring the poor girl,” Palpatine cooed, gesturing to Breha as though the girl’s tucked down chin against Rey’s sternum were evidence enough. Evidence of the embarrassment and pain she could perhaps cause such a young girl._

_Except Rey knew better; and she knew Breha. And the girl was terrified, because Rey was terrified. Could sense the panic and fear in a heartbeat. Like a sixth sense. One that could not be learned, but ingrained in the fiber of their being._

_A mother and daughter in sync._

_A disappointed tut spat from his lips. “Dear Miss Breha, here. Was just show—”_

_“How do you know her name?” Rey cut in, a quiver gone and replaced with a borderline, guttural growl. “No,” her eyes narrowed, an eerier tilt to her head as she glared down at him. “How the fuck did you get in here?”_

_“I have my ways,” he state in a simple, ominous way. One only he could get away with as though saying the sky was blue, or commenting on the weather. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”_

_“Leave,” Rey ordered, mind verging on reeling. “Leave now before I call security,” she warned, the firmness in her voice unwavering._

_“How it that a way to speak to your grandfather?”_

_“You’re Palpatine?” Breha uttered in awe—horrified or intrigued, Rey could not decipher._

_“Well this certainly was not how I expected to introduce myself,” the elderly man muttered. He turned to Breha. “I’m Sheev Palpatine. Your great-grandfather.”_

Rey wanted to cry.

Lock herself in the bathroom and have a good sob. One where her throat went sore, toes and fingers tingling from exertion.

To just become a husk for once.

But she didn’t.

Because she wasn’t too sure what she’d be crying over.

Whether it’d be the unspoken break-up between her and Ben, the clear-cut separation and distance there’d be between her and Breha for the foreseeable future, or her grandfather from hell rearing his ugly head back into her life.

She wanted to say it was the last one, seeing Palpatine awoke the hurt and pain she felt as a child.

But she knew what hurt the most.

She ruined her chances of having a relationship with Breha because fear controlled her. A fear of Palpatine, taking all she cared about. And he did because she walked right into his trap, knowing her to snap, to be irrational, to act like—like a parent. Like a mama bear.

So instead of locking herself and crying, Rey planned to keep herself busy.

She’d been washing the dishes, a task unnecessary with a dishwasher but one she clasped on the moment she entered her house and changed into sweatpants and old _My Chemical Romance_ t-shirt.

When she ran out of dirty dishes to scrub, she perused her clean dishes, picking out the ones with a hint of residue or vague smudge. Ones the dishwasher apparently did not favor.

Hands deep into the murky water, she scrubbed in a continuous circular motion. Skin pruned and wrinkled, she let her hands sit in the lukewarm water and suds.

Half temped to drain the water. Let the murky water sink slowly down, a swirl capturing all the faint grime.

Yet she didn’t.

_“Breha—Breha.” Ben crouched in front of their daughter, hands resting on her shoulders. “I need you to breathe kiddo.”_

_She tried, inhaling deeply. Forgetting for a moment to release the breath._

_Ben gave her a squeeze to let go, breathing along with her._

_In._

_Out._

_In._

_Out._

_In sync. Like father and daughter. As they were._

_Rey locked the women’s restroom door with her faculty key, knowing it was the only place in the gallery hall with a semblance of privacy. She wanted to help, but this was all she could do. Just stand back and watch. Because as well as she knew Breha, she wasn’t equipped to handle this._

_Calming her child down when she was on the verge of an anxiety attack._

_One she may or may not have caused with her reaction to Palpatine’s presence._

_“Kiddo, you need to tell me what happened—”_

_Breha wiggled away from her dad’s hold, facing Rey with panic. “What did he mean he wants to take me to my ‘real home’?”_

_“He said_ what _?” Ben snapped, turning Breha to face him once more. “Breha, you need to tell me_ everything _he told you.”_

_She pulled away from him again, eyes deadlocked on Rey. “Was he telling the truth? Is he really my great-grandfather?”_

_Ben perked at the question, standing up from his crouch. His stare matched Breha’s, both facing Rey, their eyes of the edge of hurt—waiting for her to say the words to push them to their tipping point. “What the_ fuck _is he doing here?”_

A sharp knock woke her from her stupor.

She ignored the knock.

For the first time.

For the second time.

But the third time, she drained the water and dried off her hands.

Another knock sounded. Rey huffed, marching towards the front door.

As the fifth knock sounded, she paused—

Few friends knew where she lived (Ben was unlikely to show up on her doorstep, Jannah was out of town, and Poe was still walking on eggshells around her since their confessional lunch) and closest neighbor was a good forty yards away. As a matter of fact, neighbors she’d never spoken to since she first moved into her home a couple of years back.

“Rachel!”

Her gut sank.

More rapping sounded on her front door. A distinct rapping of a cane she had not notice before.

“Rachel!” He called again, voice rasping. “I know you are in there. Your lights are on, your car is in the driveway. _Open the door_ , dear!”

She took a step back.

“And don’t go calling the police—I know about that little nasty restraining order you tried to reinstate. My friends in the force do as well.”

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

_Run_.

_As fast as you can._

No.

_“Part of you is still that fifteen year old girl, running away and burying her mistakes because she doesn’t want to accept responsibility or better yet, reality.”_

Calmly, Rey opened her eyes.

She stepped towards the entry way and grabbed her sneakers. Silently, she slipped them on and tied her laces.

The rapping continued.

Her coat was shrugged on and her crossbody purse slung over her head and on to her shoulder. Tighten until it was nice and snug. She doubled checked for her wallet, keys, and cell phone. Doubled checked her front door was locked.

It was.

More knocking on the door, BB unsettled by the sound and growling lowly.

She quietly called him over and led him to the living room area, making sure his food and water were full and potty pads were out. She set out a gate at the start of the hall to block him from getting too far into the entry way and scratching the door.

“Be a good boy. I promise I’ll be back by the morning. If he get’s in, give him a good ole bite for me, eh?”

BB nudged her with his nose, but seemingly understood as he scurried over to his bed with his favorite chew toy—a stuffed squeaky bird.

Nodding once, she went out through the backdoor, closing the door quietly, making sure it was locked.

In the faint darkness of her backyard, Rey maneuvered past her small garden to her forgotten bike. Rarely used during the winter, but still maintained and well kept. Oiled and tightened. She flicked the front light, the bulb strong and working. She shut it back off, needing it for when she reached the road.

Without looking back, she walked out from her backyard gate and into the wood.

* * *

_“What do you mean Palpatine is here?”_

_“Somehow he figured out where I work—”_

_“Are you in contact with him?”_

_Apprehension broke through her frantic expression._

_“Why the hell are you talking to him after everything he has done to you?”_

_“He emails me—I tell him to leave me alone! That is the extent—”_

_“Why would you do that? It leaves an electronic paper trail!”_

_“He kept on changing his email; what else was I supposed to do?”_

_“I don’t know, ignore the bastard maybe!”_

_“Stop yelling at me!”_

_“Then stop giving me a reason to!”_

“More coffee?” Maz asked, eyeing Ben’s empty mug.

Glancing up from his half eaten waffle, he nodded.

Across from him, Breha poked at her own soggy waffle. She drowned it in syrup, possibly seeking a sugar rush to uplift her mood. Only to probably remember she wasn’t all too fond of sweets.

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” he nodded to her.

The older woman hummed as she filled his mug to the brim. “Not like yours, but a warm cup always lifts up the spirits. You look like you need it. Both of you.”

“Breha doesn’t drink coffee this late,” Ben explained with a halfhearted shrug. Lifting the mug to his lips, he took a small sip.

Just good ole black coffee. Maz was right—a warm cup did lift his spirits a bit. Brought comfort he needed.

“Then a milkshake on the house.” She winked at Breha before heading off behind the counter.

On a Friday night the diner was not as busy as it was in the mornings, with a few customers here and there. Ben and Breha sat by the window, attempting to have a decent breakfast for dinner. However he listing the details of her grounding as they waited for their food put a damper on the meal, more so considering the evening’s events.

Taking another sip of his coffee, Ben spared a glance at Breha.

The mention of the milkshake seemed to perk her up, she digging into her waffles with more gumption. Yet her pout remained.

Ben sighed, hating seeing her sad for too long. “I know you aren’t happy about the grounding, but if you listen and are good…maybe your grounding won’t be as long.”

She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Ben croaked. Clearing his throat, he sipped more of his coffee. “I really mean it.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but the chime of the front door interrupted her.

“Sit anywhere dear,” Maz called out from the counter, attending another guest.

Breha’s eyes were glued on the new customer. Curious, he peeked over his shoulder—

And nearly spilled coffee on his lap.

“Rey?” he sputtered.

Her head whipped around, eyes widening.

He expected her to duck away, turn away, go away. Run out of the damn diner.

But she didn’t.

Instead she marched right up to their table. As she came closer, he noticed her face was flush and a couple of twigs stuck out haphazardly in her hair.

“Rey—” Ben began, attempting to scramble an apology for how he reacted back at the gallery. But none of it mattered, Rey’s blanched expression speaking volumes before a word was uttered.

“He’s at my house, and I have no idea what to do.”

Ben gapped, at a loss for words.

He knew Palpatine was not the nicest man, hearing Rey’s side of events, but he never expected the man to resort to stalking tactics. Such as following Rey home. A protective anger boiled within him, on the verge of teetering into rage and facing the man himself for frightening Rey. Scaring her enough to cause her to run off, seek refuge elsewhere for a short while.

Breha, on the other hand, remained calm. Far calmer than him. She scooted over and motioned for Rey to join her. “We can share my milkshake. It’s strawberry. Milkshakes always make things better.”

Rey’s face soften, the fear easing away upon seeing Breha. Relief shined in her eyes, though she did not immediately sit down.

“Oh, sweetie I don’t know if that’s the best idea.” She glanced at Ben, reluctant to do anything without his permission.

“You can join us,” he found himself saying, rather having her close than the alternative. “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, hands fidgeting with the strap of her purse.

He nodded. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

She slid into the spot beside Breha, hugging herself. She gave the girl a small smile. Breha mirrored her expression before tucking back into her food.

Seeing them side by side, the resemblance was uncanny. The eyes, the hair, and the smile. All there right in front of him, as clear as daylight to anyone who witnessed.

Longing stirred within Ben, for a family that could be. But he shoved it away.

Breha always came first.

And if Breha came first, being in a romantic relationship with Rey simply wasn’t in cards. At least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I rewrote this chapter several times for multiple reasons-- 1. I did not like the first version or what I had outlined. 2. The rise and build of the chapter felt a lot like the chapter where Ben finds out about Rey being Breha's biological mom. 3. I was indecisive on how to end the chapter.
> 
> But now it is here and hopefully you all liked it! If some parts felt vague, that was the point. A lot is up in the air for our characters (like the fact Rey and Ben sort of broke up, yet nothing was explicitly discussed) and we don't know the extent of which Breha revealed about her search for Rey, which was done on purpose. This chapter definitely rides on the philosophy that sometimes it is the aftermath of an event that is more important than the actual event itself.
> 
> Also the chapter count went up; do what you will with that information ;)


	12. Being Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typos will be fixed later. 
> 
> Will be replying to the previous chapters comments soon!
> 
> Enjoy :)

* * *

_**Being Okay** _

* * *

A woman had never slept in Ben’s bed nor spent the night in his house.

Not all that surprising considering his dating life and his overprotectiveness of Breha. Yet he could no longer claim, even in the depths of his own mind, such a case.

Because Rey was less than two feet away from him, on his bed, curled on her side, chest rising and falling. Possibly asleep, more likely awake and just breathing evenly as her mind ran a thousand miles a minute. She tossed and turned a few times when they both turned in for bed, she insisting she needed to sleep facing the door.

Ben didn’t argue, letting her manhandle his pillows, duvet, and fluffy checkered blanket to her heart’s content. Eventually she got comfortable enough and he took his spot on the opposite side of the bed.

Flat on his back. Hands latched together on his chest. As though waiting for death or…

Well, who the hell knew what else.

She wasn’t keen on being close to him, almost tilting on the edge of the bed. As far as possible without toppling on the floor in a pile of blankets. Rey offered to sleep on the couch, but both knew the option was a less than appealing. If she was out on the couch, then she’d be alone. Alone with the large living room windows and entryway just a few feet away.

Rey wanted— _needed_ —to be near someone.

Ben just happened to be the ‘someone.’

Awkwardness eased back into his bones as the evening morphed into dead of night.

Strange phenomenon because he swore for an instant the awkwardness he feared to linger between them was gone. But he sort of had to fuck it up, just a little bit.

The awkwardness of the evening melted away once Breha’s milkshake came. The girls dug into the concoction, both given a straw and spoon each for their treat. They fought over the cherry with great effort, but both lost due to lack of paying attention. Ben swiped it and popped the topper into his mouth much to both Rey and Breha’s horror.

Awkwardness was seemingly nonexistent as they all piled into Ben’s car, he securing Rey’s bike in the bed of his truck. The car ride to his house was silent, Breha nodding off on Rey’s shoulder.

A natural ease soon set into their actions. Rey sure making Breha’s head didn’t lull too much as they traveled down the winding road, to carefully unbuckling her once Ben was parked.

He rounded the side of the car, passed off the house keys to Rey, and gently picked up their sleeping daughter. Doors were shut with tender care, preventing any loud noises and lights remained dim to not wake her.

Ben led the way to Breha’s room, nudging the door open. Rey untucked her duvet as Ben set Breha down and went about removing her shoes. She wrestled off Breha’s coat, and he coaxed their daughter to lay down when a soft groan ill-content came from her. Soon Breha was properly tucked into bed, Ben pulling the duvet up to her chin and Rey sweeping away loose hair from the girl’s face.

Together, as a team.

He closed the door behind her, the two standing in the hall.

Avoiding eye contact.

And then the Awkwardness, with a big ass capital A, settled back in once it was just _them_.

Rey and Ben.

Not Breha’s parents. Or whatever the hell they should call their little family.

But Rey and Ben who clearly cared for each other, but were idiots. And mean. And cruel. And knew just how to push each other to react in the best and worst possible ways.

_“I guess I’ll take the couch,” Rey jutted her thumb down the hall. “Um, thank you again. For letting me stay—I can’t be there right now knowing that he knows…” She shrugged, hugging herself. “So uh, thank you.”_

_Her eyes darted to his then back down the hall._

_He stared back, unsure of what to do. Breha had done most of the talking when they were at the diner. Mostly because Ben didn’t know how to communicate without sounding like a total dick or idiot when his emotions were a chaotic jumble._

_“Alright then,” she said under her breath. Pointing to the linens closet, she eyed him again. “Blankets are in here, right?”_

_“You—you don’t have to sleep on the couch,” he uttered, more strained than he intended._

_Rey paused, hand reaching out for the fluffy checkered blanket she favored during their movie nights._

_“You can sleep in my bed—if, if you want.” Ben rocked on the balls of his feet, hands shoved into his pockets. He felt like a nervous teenager, asking his girlfriend out instead of asking Rey, who was more than just a girlfriend, to share a bed for strictly sleeping purposes._

_She pulled down the blanket, firmly shutting the lines closet. “Are you sure that’s a wise idea? Considering…”_

_“Considering what?” he shot back; an ounce breathless an ounce desperate._

_“Uh, well,” she kicked the air like a passing stone on the road, “like the fact you told me I essentially still act like a child, don’t have any sense or know how to take responsibility for my actions, and told me in front of Breha, no less, that you don’t want me involved in her life. That’s the ‘considering.’”_

_Fuck._

_He did say all that._

_“I—”_

_“You knew the impending risk of being in a relationship with me after you found out about—well, about me being Breha’s mother,” she told him plainly, “and that was your opportunity to end this. But you didn’t, so I just thought…” Rey shrugged, hugging the blanket to her chest, “…I thought this—us—might mean something beyond…” she shook her head, not willing to finish her thought. Her eyes locked back on his, unwavering in sternness and pain. “But I will not let you use my past, that I told you in confidence, as ammunition against me. That’s not how this works. Together or not, that was dickhead move.”_

_“I know it was, that’s probably why I did it,” he confessed, unable to hide the truth from her, “I was scared and said what I felt needed to be said for you to get the picture.” Ben leaned against the wall, unable to tear his eyes away from her. “I want to be with you, I do,” his voice was soft and low, loud enough for their little world of two, “But I also need to do what is best for Breha.”_

_“Don’t use her as an excuse, Ben.”_

She brushed passed him into his bedroom, acting like she owned the place. Kicking off shoes, wiggling out of her coat and dropping her purse on the floor by her claimed side of the bed. Twigs and mud from her self-foraged biking trail soiled her clothes, Ben politely offering her a pair of his old basketball shorts and t-shirt.

She took both and left for the ensuite bathroom.

Not until he was already in bed, flannel pajama bottoms and t-shirt because he didn’t want to make her too uncomfortable, and feigning sleep did Rey come back from the bathroom.

They did not talk. Not even a ‘goodnight’.

Just side by side, pretending to be asleep.

Ben was prepared to lay wide awake for the entire night, knowing Rey would sense if he got up and left to the living room. And maybe he didn’t want to leave her, liking the idea of them being close. Close enough to reach in case of emergency. Close enough to hold if she desired to be held. Close enough…close enough to know she was there.

The fact Palpatine was outside of her house bothered him more than he let on.

But he couldn’t let Rey know, because she’d become defensive. Claim she was fine and could handle the situation on her own, a contrary accusation considering she was staying the night in his house. In his bed. The confession he received on her being uncomfortable with Palpatine outside her house was more than he anticipated.

“Ben.”

He jolted at the sound of his name. Groggily, he opened his eyes from his mid-night musings.

Still dark out. Vague shadows of the trees lingered by the windows, but nothing out of the ordinary.

“Ben,” her whisper came again. The bed shifted, she turning over to face him. “Are you awake?”

“What do you think?”

She shoved him lightly, her arm curling back into her chest in a flash. “Don’t be a jackass,” she muttered, face pressed deeply into his pillow. Only half of her face was visible, one eye staring back at him and lips pressed into a droopy purse. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself before asking, “Do…do you think everything will be _okay_?”

He frowned, turning to face her. “What do you mean by ‘okay’?”

She sighed, hugging the corner of the pillow. “I mean…will we be okay?” She groaned into the pillow. “God, I spend too much time around teenagers, I’m starting to sound like one.”

A half laugh begged to be released from him, but it came out more like a deep sigh.

Ben scooted closer, a hand resting in the space between them.

“I can’t fall asleep being upset with you.”

Her words were slow and even. Afraid to admit the kink in her armor.

“I can’t either.”

* * *

“Is this proper British tea?”

She ignored the question, favoring to focus on her task.

Ben watched as she moved around his kitchen. A kettle filled with water and put on the stove. A box of loose leaf English Breakfast tea and metal chain diffusers sat on the counter before him. Cabinets were opened and closed as she scavenged, frowning when she came up empty handed.

“Do you not have a tea pot?”

His eyebrows jumped. “You are asking a predominantly coffee drinking man if he has a _tea pot_.”

Her mouth formed a line, unamused. “Valid, but you should get one.” She spun around to the cabinets on the left and plucked out two ash-blue mugs. “But I guess these will do for now.”

“Who taught you how to make tea—the right way?” Ben asked, attempting small talk at half past midnight.

Both knew he was terrible at small talk.

But she humored him.

“I actually use to make awful tea when I was a kid. Never steeped the damn thing for the right amount of time, or got impatient while waiting for the water to boil. My Grandfather Palpatine would get so upset, would never drink it. Maybe that’s why I never did learn from my mistakes.” Her lips worried together, a flash of hesitance glazed in her eyes. “It wasn’t until I was pregnant and staying with my Granddad Kenobi did I learn how to make a good cup. If I was to be living in his house I needed to learn how to do that.”

“He does have some pretty high tea standards.” His shoulders relaxed on the easy territory of conversation. “I remember visiting him as a kid and being forced to have tea. Sitting down with my mom and my uncle at the table as they all talked and talked and talked,” he rolled his eyes, “but Old Ben always gave me extra cookies, so I guess I can’t complain too much.”

Her lips twitched at the sentiment, yet her focus remained on filling the diffusers with loose tea.

“The shortbread cookies, right?”

“Yes.” Ben nodded once, “the ones with peanut butter and chocolate.”

“Those are his favorite. He still has a stash of them in his kitchen. Second cabinet to the right.”

Ben smiled at the little tid-bit of knowledge. “It’s…weird to think we could have met sooner.”

Her eyes jumped from the mugs to him. “How do you mean?”

“Our families—both sides of yours, the Kenobis and Palpatines—have known the Skywalkers for years. And our paths never crossed. Not once.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t seemed too concerned about the matter, a half shrug rolling through her shoulders. “I mean, I guess it’s a little weird. But not entirely.” The kettle gave a half hearted whistle, the cap breaking some odd years ago. “You are ten years older,” she said blankly, unbothered by the fact, “and if our paths did cross earlier then I don’t know if we would be right here, right now. Or even if Breha would exist.”

“Are you saying it is fate we didn’t meet earlier?”

Her face flushed at the term. “No.”

“Because I thought you didn’t believe in fate,” he shot back, a grin teasing at the corner of his mouth, “or destiny or any of that business.”

Lips pursed, Rey turned away to tend to the kettle.

“Well, maybe I changed my mind.”

* * *

“You cheated,” Rey declared.

“How are three reverses cheating?” Ben looked up from his hand of _UNO_ cards. Their empty mugs sat on the coffee table, long forgotten in their seemingly never ending game of _UNO_. A suggestion made by Rey, and one Ben agreed to because…because there was time to kill. Neither wanted to talk about what mattered so trivial pursuits seemed all the more interesting. Such as playing a card game. “I had three reverses and I thought ‘why not use them’? That’s not cheating. There is nothing in the rule book that says that.”

“Really?” she shot back. “And you’ve read the rule book? To _UNO_. A pretty self-explanatory game. One children the ages five and up can play with ease.”

He shifted on the couch, leaning further away from her and into the cushions. “Maybe not the rule book, but the little pamphlet in the box.”

She rolled her eyes, but remained silent.

This meant she found him ridiculous, but chose not to address said ridiculousness. He caught on to her antics and responses quickly, like reading her was an necessary skill to acquire. One he wanted to receive high marks on, without fail. To impress and please.

“It will be nearly impossible for me to win,” Rey muttered after a moment of silence. She frowned at her large hand of cards. More than twelve. Her eyes traveled to his hand of two.

The odds were in his favor.

“But you aren’t going to quit now, are you?” he asked. “You can always give me a Wild Card or maybe switch colors on me, cause me to get more cards…”

She flipped over her cards face down on her lap, gaze filled with stunned amusement. “Are you trying to help me win when you are one card away from UNO?”

Ben swallowed, gaze dropping down to their messy pile of cards. “…No.”

Rey sighed, picking up another card from the leaning stack.

* * *

“My parents always went to bed upset with one another,” Ben confessed.

He was reorganizing the magazines under the coffee table. Each only read a couple of times, but he kept them. Not sure why, but he enjoyed the idea of having magazine subscriptions to _TIME, Rolling Stone, Vanity Fair_. Something about the printed gloss made him feel like he transported to another version of adulthood. Where he could say ‘yeah, I remember in this one article…’ in conversation, like someone with an opinion that mattered on a topic he had little care for.

Rey looked up from a August 2019 issue of Vanity Fair, skimming through the photos and dogearing random ones.

“How do you know they went to bed upset with one another?”

“One of them usually stormed out of the house.”

“Oh.”

Ben cleared his throat, going back to organizing the magazines by date. “Yeah… I’d usually hear them throughout the night, just yelling. Ripping through each other until…” he shook his head, “and it felt like they gave up on each other sometimes. Decided the other wasn’t worth fighting for and left it at that.”

Rey brushed her hair behind her ear, peeking up at him. Gentle and patient, a side she liked to show in the stillest of moments.

He adored this side of her.

Then again, he adored all aspects of her.

“But they are still together. I saw them at the gallery.”

“For Breha’s sake,” he rubbed his right eye, sleep tempting him, “before she came along, they were ready to submerge themselves into divorce. Or estrangement. Whichever one was easier.”

“But they didn’t.”

“No.”

“But would you have wanted them to?”

Ben hesitated.

Rey waited.

“I don’t know.”

* * *

“I don’t remember them.”

“Who?”

“My parents.”

They were sitting on opposite sides of the couch, each their own blanket to keep them warm. An episode of _Parks and Recreation_ played on the screen. Neither was watching or engaging, eyes set with a tired, thoughtful gazes.

“Sometimes I think I remember…a voice here or a flash of a memory there…” she blinked, feeling her throat constrict for a fleeting second, before vanishing, “but I know I don’t.”

Ben remained quiet, his eyes slowly leaving the television screen and falling back to her.

“Grandfather never talked about them in great detail, only saying my father was a disappointment to the Palpatine name and…and Granddad only spoke of my mother’s childhood. Nothing else.” She curled further into herself, arms hugging her knees. Small and tight into a ball in the corner of the couch. She could blend into the furniture if she wanted to—but she didn’t. “But I know they were both drunks. Alcoholics. I just didn’t want to see the truth and my grandparents wanted to leave me ignorant for their own reasons.”

“Rey…”

“I snapped in the gallery because I tried so damn hard to keep him away.” She exhaled sharply, each word tumbling for her lips a piecing stab to her chest. A confession of reality she didn’t want to acknowledge anymore than she already had. “And yet he somehow came back into my life and knowing him, he’s going to try to rip everything away. And I can’t let him do that. I just can’t…”

Burning at the back of her throat, a soft sob broke through. Her face fell on her knees, she pressing her eyes into the blanket until she felt the fabric absorb her tears. No tracks to trace, not pain to trace.

“Ben, he _touched_ her,” she heaved out as another heavy sob consumed her. Shoulder rattling, chest throbbing sobs. “He _talked_ to her. He _knew_ who she was—he wasn’t supposed to know.” She lifted her head, words no longer muffled in the safety of her blanket. “He wasn’t supposed to know— _at all_.”

“I know,” Ben said, sounding like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He shifted closer, but refrained from touching her. From pulling her close despite that every part of her yearned for comfort. For a hug to bring her close, for a hand to hold and be an anchor. “I know—I-I realize now how you just reacted on instinct because it was scary for you.”

“Terrifying,” she corrected.

“And…” he inhaled deeply, hands at a loss of what to do. “And you wanted to protect Breha. I understand that.”

Frustrated with his moving hands, she latched a hand on to his, grip steadfast. His eyes landed on their joined hands, stunned.

And then he held her hand back, thumb caressing her knuckles in a soothing circular motion.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did either,” he began slowly, “but my mind was—is— on Breha. Almost all the time. I don’t know how to shut that parent part of me off because that’s been my life for years.” A piece of her heart chipped at the crack in his voice. Low and…sad. A part of himself lost along the way as he became father and mother for his— _their_ —daughter. “And I saw her in that gallery on the verge of panic attack, and nothing else mattered in that moment besides helping Breha. Not even you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” There wasn’t an ounce of the contrary.

“I think I understand what you mean.” She closed her eyes, willing the tears to stop. They didn’t, almost coming back in full vengeance. “Because all I could think about was Breha and making sure she was safe. It just didn’t manifest in the best way, my own anger and fear getting in the way—”

“You had the right to be angry,” Ben interjected before she could say anymore, “and you have the right to feel the way you feel. Being a parent isn’t easy and sometimes we make mistakes or react poorly or…or things are out of our control and go to shit.”

She snorted, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. “I’m not a parent. Breha doesn’t want me to be her parent. Her mother. She doesn’t want any of that from me.”

“I think Breha is confused,” Ben began, a weariness weighing down on him, “and upset. But I don’t think it has to do with you specifically. I don’t think she ever thought this out all the way through. How her actions would effect our family. And now she is in a situation she never considered and she’s upset about it.”

“Do you think she’ll ever warm up to me being someone other than her teacher?” she asked, hating how desperate she sounded. But then again, if there were anything she’d be truly desperate for…

It’d be Breha loving her back. To love her like a daughter would love their mother, even if it took years to get there.

Ben gave a soft, reassuring yet sleepy smile. “I think she already has.”

* * *

Around six in the morning, Breha woke up. At some point she remembered waking up in the middle of the night to change into pajamas and fell right back to sleep once she was dressed for bed.

She fell asleep far too early, throwing off her schedule. Her alarm had yet to go off, she shutting the alert off before it could shill and wake the entire house.

Parched, she stumbled out of her room, down the hall towards the kitchen.

Yet as she passed the living room, she stilled.

Laying passed out on the couch, was her father and Rey.

Curled together, Rey resting partially on Ben while one of his legs sort of dangled off the edge and his sock was slipping off his foot. A blanket haphazardly covered them, nearly thrown off in their sleep.

Frowning, Breha stepped passed the cluttered coffee table of magazines and spilled pile of _UNO_ cards. She picked up one end of the checkered blanket and tossed it over the rest of their bodies.

Rey and Ben hardly moved at the gesture, both deep in slumber.

Shaking her head, Breha picked up the forgotten mugs and took them with her to the kitchen. Once both were in the sink, she started a pot of coffee.

As the sound of the drip filled the house, Breha peeked back into the living room.

Her father had woken up, she able to see him rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

She expected a grumpy grumble, maybe some obscenities about getting up. Expected a frown, groan, and shuffle to the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee.

Except none of that happened.

Instead, he smiled down at Rey.

Brushed her hair from her face.

Wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth.

He sighed, content. Made no rush to move; made no rush to hurry along into the stretches of the early morning.

His eyes closed once more, falling back to sleep and holding Rey closer than before.

Cautiously, Breha stepped back into kitchen.

Rey made him _happy_.

A strange giddy happy.

And Breha found guilt gnawing inside her…because maybe Rey was meant to fit into their little family, whether she liked it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this kind of a filler chapter? Maybe.
> 
> Did they mention important things that might come back later? Absolutely.
> 
> Was this chapter necessary? Yes. For reasons. But also because I feel like we needed to slow down a fraction before this fic goes high speed again.


	13. In Light of Information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a 8k chapter as an apology for being gone from this fic for almost a month.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later.
> 
> Enjoy :D

* * *

**In Light of Information**

* * *

Rey trusted two things in her life.

  1. Her gut.
  2. BB, her brilliant and loving dog.



She wasn’t one to over think too much, going with what felt right. Making a decision with her gut, her instinct rarely wrong. At least for the most part. When she was pregnant, her gut told her to run and find her Granddad Kenobi. When she apply for grad programs, her gut told her to only apply out of country. When she was offered the job at Yavin, her gut told her to take it.

Her gut had yet to lead her astray.

So when Ben offered to let her stay at his house with him and Breha until she felt secure enough to be home alone, she went with her gut.

“Of course,” she breathed, relief crashing over her. The thought of going home had haunted her since she woke up, unable to help but think her grandfather would waiting outside her door again, at any moment. She hugged her mug close to her chest, the warm soothing her anxieties away. “Yes, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“No problem.”

Ben poured himself more coffee, topping her mug while he was at it. He glanced over to where Breha sat on the couch. A bowl of cereal rested on her stomach as she skipped through the channels on the television before just switching over to Netflix and putting on _To All the Boys I Loved Before_.

He sighed.

“She must be in a mood.”

Rey frowned at Breha, then back at Ben. “What? She looks fine.” And she did, her face devoid of any emotion; nothing to indicate anything otherwise. She looked as she always looked.

“She’s watching _To All the Boys I Loved Before_.”

“And?”

“It’s her ‘emotional’ movie.” He used air quotes around the term ‘emotional’, an eye roll as the cherry on top. “She only watches it when she’s upset or is feeling a lot of feelings.” His face scrunched. “Her words not mine.”

Rey snorted behind her mug. “Ah, I see,” she replied. Nodding slowly, peeked back up at him. “Do…Do you think she’d be okay?”

“Okay?”

“Okay with me,” she paused, her shoulders shrugging up in a half nervous dance, “ya know, staying here for a little bit?”

Ben’s lips disappeared, he chewing them together in deep thought. “I…don’t think she has a say in this.”

“But she should.”

He shook his head, clearly not understanding her point. He shut off coffee pot’s hotplate with a sharp jab of the button. “No. She shouldn’t.”

“But it’s her house too.”

“And she’s my kid, and so parent’s rules override the kid’s opinion.” He leaned against the counter, taking a long sip of his black coffee. “Basic Parenting 1-0-1. You should catch on quick.”

Rey’s lips quirked to the side; she wasn’t too sure if she agreed with Ben’s assessment on parenting. Breha was growing and learning, becoming an individual. She couldn’t necessarily agree with Ben a hundred percent of the time, now could she? No teenager agreed with their parents whole heartedly and no matter how close Ben and Breha happened to be, Rey knew it to be impossible. Hell, half her job was listening to teenagers whine about their lives and how they hated whatever their parents may or may have not asked them to do or not do.

Teenagers were moody and rebellious in their own ways. Breha was no exception.

Saying she didn’t want a houseguest—a houseguest who happened to be her teacher and biological mother—would fit the bill of ‘rebellion’ a bit perfectly for her.

“If you are sure,” she decided, returning to her coffee.

“I’m sure.”

* * *

“No.”

“Breha—”

“It’s weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

“Yes,” she argued, arms crossed stubbornly over her chest, “yes it is, Dad.”

“It will just be for a couple of weeks,” Ben told her.

He pushed aside the window curtain, double checking the front of the house. The driveway was still empty. Rey borrowed his truck to pack up some of her belongings and bring along BB for her moderate stay.

“I am sure you can handle being in the same house as Rey for a couple of weeks.”

“No—no I cannot!” Breha huffed, marching past Ben, down the hall, and into her room.

He followed her without missing a beat, catching the door before she could slam it in his face. “Kiddo, she doesn’t feel comfortable being home alone with her Grandfather lurking around. We have to look out for her.”

“Oh, _really_?” she growled. Her hazel eyes glared up at him, ready for a challenge. “Because if I recall, less than a day ago you didn’t want her around me _at all_!”

“I—” He opened and closed his mouth, finding Breha had pushed him into a corner with his words. “I made a bad judgement—”

“A ‘bad judgement’—”

“Hey, cool it,” he ordered, not in the mood to handle a sassy Breha. Especially when it was still morning. “Yeah, a ‘bad judgement’ because I was upset and not in the right head space.”

A scoff sounded from Breha, she walking away and further into her room.

“So everything is all okay?” The question was sharp and suspicious, she not believing his decision for a moment. “You two are back together—”

“That is not of your concern—”

“It is my concern!” Breha whirled around to him, a clean paint brush pointed violently in his face. “Because—because you are my dad and she—she’s my _mom_!” Her face screwed up in pain, the words tumbling out of her mouth in an awkward jumble. “And it’s weird and I don’t know how I feel about you two having sex in this house when I am sleeping in it!”

Ben’s ears burned bright red, mortification consuming him. “Breha—don’t say thing like that—”

“What?” She crossed her arms over her chest, eyebrows bunched together. “‘Sex’? The word ‘sex’? I am not a baby, I know what sex is, Dad!”

“ _Stop saying that word_!”

“Then don’t do it in the house!”

“Rey and I aren’t even,” he growled at the ceiling, hands fisted at his sides, “Rey and I are taking things _slow—_ like non-existent,” he drawled out, hoping to get his point across, “and romance is not—is not necessarily on our minds.”

“You don’t need romance to have sex,” Breha shot back. “I mean, I’m a product of such activities.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Ben warned, feeling defensive for Rey, “you don’t know the whole story.”

“Am I wrong?”

Ben remained silent on the matter, knowing it was not his past to share. A conversation between Rey and Breha for another time, when both were ready. Whenever that would be.

Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “Main point; she’s staying, don’t make it worse or a bigger deal than it should be, and please for the love of god, act like you still don’t know what sex is, damn it.”

Breha groaned, flopping face first into her bed. “You never make any sense!”

He frowned down at her, her muffled screams heard loud and clear despite her pile of blanket.

“All I am asking is that you try, Breha.” Stepping forward, Ben took a tentative seat on the edge of the bed. Clothes were tossed about her room, a couple of jeans and t-shirts kicked by the foot of her bed. He didn’t want to know if they were clean or dirty, too afraid to ask. “I know…I know things are different now; it can’t go back to the way it was before. We all know she’s your mother and the situation between Rey and I hasn’t been easier for you…but just try. Like you use to.” His words felt useless. Ben did not know what was going through Breha’s brain when she solely knew the truth. He didn’t know what to say to make her feel better, at a loss. “She’s still connected to you. Always will be. Don’t let your anger and frustration over everything going on right now ruin the relationship you can have with her.”

Another pitiful groan came from Breha.

“I’ll take that as an ‘okay.’” Ben patted her head.

She swatted him away, but didn’t argue.

A win in Ben’s books.

* * *

When Ben told her to bring a few of her belongings, Rey realized she may have over done it. Her two large suitcases, a duffle, and several tote bags was more than enough for a mere week stay.

But Ben didn’t comment on her array of luggage. Just getting to work and pulling a suitcase out from the bed of the truck.

“I panic pack,” she defended, “I kind of go into blind autopilot and just take everything I think I could possibly need. Anything.”

“It’s fine,” his mouth ghosted a smile, “we have the room.”

A small relieved sigh escaped her, the embarrassment she felt building up inside her evaporating into nothing.

Rey followed Ben up the path of the house, she matching his strides within moments. Beside her feet on his leash, BB trotted along, happy to be out of the house. Every few seconds he’d stop to sniff each patch of grass he passed, his little jaw dropping in delight at all the new scents in the air.

“BB also has a crate, I have it covered by a blanket in the back,” Rey explained, also feeling the need to defend her dog. Ben hadn’t objected at the mention of her furry companion just nodding along when she asked to bring him along. “I promise he’s a good boy and will only want to smother you with kisses.”

Opening the front door, Ben motioned for Rey to enter first. Her pup took the lead, walking into Ben’s home like he owned the place. Once again, BB sniffed all the surfaces within his reach. Satisfied with his findings, he spun in circles and planted himself in front of Rey—or more specifically between Rey and Ben.

Stubborn and unmoving. He showed his teeth up to Ben, snout up and puffing.

“BB, you know Ben,” Rey nudged him off her foot, “Come on boy. Don’t be like this.”

He looked up and her and then back and Ben. No growl, no barking, just doggy glaring.

Ben flinched.

Of course, her dog would give her a hard time; as if she didn’t need more problems to pile up on her. She dropped her duffle and crouched down beside him, giving scratches and pats, hoping he’d relax. “I don’t know why he’s acting like this. He’s usually more friendly.”

“Is that a dog?”

The two turned around to find Breha peeking her head from the hallway. She was still dressed in her pajamas, an old oversized soccer t-shirt and checkered pajama pants.

Rey perked at the sight of her. They’d hardly spoke that morning, Breha a bit quiet and determined to sit as far away as possible from Ben. “Yes, you remember my dog? The pictures I have of him at school?”

Breha nodded, coming closer, holding out her hand to dog. He sniffed her for a moment before licking her palm in greedy strokes. A girlish giggle erupted from her, she sitting on the floor in the middle of the entry way to give BB more love and pats.

“I’m surprised you brought him,” Breha said between laughter. BB jumped to lick her face, smothering his nose against her chin and neck, paws braced on her shoulders. “Dad, hates dogs.”

Rey’s eyes widen, whipping around to Ben. “You hate dogs?”

“I—” the words choked at the back of his throat, “I don’t _hate_ dogs. Breha was just over exaggerating—”

“It’s because Papa Han got my Dad a dog for his birthday when he was little and then ended up spending more time with the dog than Dad. So he hates dogs.” She shrugged, not seeing it as a big deal, but a fact of life. She looked up at Rey, eyes blinking innocently. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” Rey turned back to Ben, picking up her duffle bag as she stood back up, “I didn’t.”

Avoiding her gaze, Ben rolled her suitcase out of the way and began his trek down the hall. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Dogs are dogs. You can love and have a dog; it’s not that big of a deal.” He opened his bedroom door, depositing her suitcase inside. “Honestly not that big of a deal.”

Rey did a mental tally—he said ‘not that big of a deal’ at least three times. Which told her exactly how he felt.

“I can just go with my granddad—I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me there for a few days.”

“No!” Ben called out, rushing back to her. “No—no, come on. You can stay here. I like dogs.” Breha’s eyebrows shot up, stunned. Her hands were still consumed with BB’s rambunctious nudging and nipping, but her focus was completely and utterly trained on Rey and Ben. “And I want you to feel comfortable here because…well because we’re like family now.” He crossed his arms over his chest, almost hugging himself. “And family is there for each other.”

Warmth blossomed through her, unexpected, but welcomed.

“Oh, um…well,” she tucked a loose hair behind her ear, “then thank you. I—I suppose we should get the rest of my things.” Coiling her end of the leash, Rey handed it off to Breha. “Can you watch him and keep him some company while we finish? I have some doggy biscuits for him in the duffle if you want to give him a treat.”

“Yes!” Breha jumped on the opportunity, completely enthralled with BB. “Come on, BB.” She stood up and led the pup out of the entryway and towards her bedroom, the duffle slung over her shoulder.

“Just bringing the dog alone might have scored you some points with her,” Ben remarked as they ambled out of the house together.

His front yard had some overgrown weeds and dead branches littering the ground. She knew Ben did not possess a green thumb despite enjoying the outdoors. But that did not mean her heart didn’t ache at the sight of his poorly maintained foliage.

Maybe during her stay she’d have to spruce up the yard. Pick up some flowers from the local nursery, mow the lawn, repaint the wooden fence. Give the entire outside a pick-me-up.

“She just seems hot and cold around me,” Rey confessed as she grabbed one of her various tote bags. An old paint splattered canvas tote she had since forever that somehow maintained its integrity through the years. “One moment she wants to be my friend—like last night with sharing the milkshake—and then the next she avoids me like the plague.”

Ben hummed and grabbed two other canvas tote bags. “She’s just going through a lot. Imagine being in her shoes.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Exactly.” As they stepped up to the door, he paused. He hiked the tote bag higher on his shoulder, glancing down at her. Eye tentative, but stance sure. “Just give her time, Rey. I think we all need time. To figure this out.”

“You sound suddenly so wise.” She recalled how unsure and lost he sounded the previous night, beating himself up over every little thought that entered his mind and came out of his mouth.

“Well, sometimes I have to put my dad hat on and become the voice of reason, even if I feel I’m shit at it.”

Her hand reached for his.

Fingers interlocked for the slightest of moments. A light squeeze of digits threaded together, like a well-made puzzle piece.

“Trust me, you’re not shit at it.”

* * *

Rey discovered living with Ben and Breha is different.

Not a good different.

Not a bad different.

Just a _different_.

For most of her life, Rey lived on her own. Yes, it was a struggle to make ends meet. Yes, more often than not she suffocated in loneliness. And yes, she knew it was because she did not trust people to enter her life and inhabit any part of it. Even if it was the spare room down the hall.

But living with Ben and Breha caused Rey to pause and watch.

Watch as Ben attempted to get Breha to anything but cereal in the morning. The strategic placement of a banana beside the coffee maker, or the yogurt cups placed beside the almond milk. Watch as Breha started the coffee in the morning, she discreetly finishing her math or science homework she neglected the night before in favor for painting as she waited for the pot to fill to the brim. Watch as father and daughter teased and grumbled and shared a companionship unlike Rey had witnessed.

For as long as she breathed, Breha was only Ben’s. They knew no other life.

An oddly fascinating fact Rey found rolling in her head over and over and over again.

Because for years Rey wondered what life her daughter lived. If she had a cookie cutter family media boasted, or struggled to relate to her parents like all children did at some point in their lives. Or if she liked sports, or preferred academic decathlon, listened to classical music or heavy metal.

But to see in the flesh how Breha lived, in the most mundane sense, Rey felt a sense of peace…

And loneliness.

A crippling loneliness.

For what? She did not know.

* * *

Much to Ben’s relief, Rey found her pace in the house a couple of days later. She’d been hovering, yet acted as though she hadn’t. Waiting a few seconds before jumping into a conversation, or offering a bit too eagerly to wash the dishes or cleanup any room she stepped foot in. He caught her staring at him and Breha a few times; just watching, deep in thought. Unnerving if it been from anyone else, but as far as he knew, she’d been on her own for years.

Living with others was an adjustment. Especially with Ben who liked to organize his life in a particular order, and Breha who lived in messes and had mood swings up the whazoo these days.

But on Tuesday night she suggested carpooling with Breha to school. “I can drive her. We are going to the same place anyway. It just makes sense.” She chuckled under her breath. “It felt silly these past two days going in two separate cars when she can tag along with me.”

“That works. I was thinking the same thing.”

They’d been washing the dishes together; Ben washing as Rey dried. Usually he’s just stick the dishes in the dishwasher, but ever since she came over for dinner that first Saturday a few months back, the two fell into a routine of doing the washing together.

The task had found itself instilled after every dinner now, a nice moment where they could work and talk without feeling too awkward.

A relief considering the moments leading up to bed, were for the lack of better word, awkward.

Laying side by side in bed, acting like he had fallen asleep when there was no way in hell he could fall sleep with her a mere foot away and not touch her. Hold her. Or kiss her. Instead, he’d get up once she’d fallen asleep and curl his six foot frame on the living room couch. Because it was the decent thing to do.

Ben did not know, in the slightest, where he and Rey stood.

They both said some shitty things to each other. They both were, and are to an extent, still upset with one another. Most importantly, they both wanted what was best for Breha. Which possibly entailed not having a romantic relationship at all.

A sacrifice Ben would make for his daughter. One he was sure Rey would make as well.

At least he hoped. He did not know what he’d do with himself if he had to explicitly turn Rey’s advances down.

Done drying the dishes, Rey folded up the kitchen towel over the edge of the sink. “I’ll go ahead and tell her. Maybe I’ll actually be able to pry BB from her while I’m at it. That dog needs to eat at some point.”

Ben nodded, drying off his hands. “Guess I’ll see you later then? In bed?” He immediately cringed at how clingy he came off, fisting the towel in one hand.

She frowned at him, a flash of mirth in her eyes. “Uh, yeah. In bed. Like normal people when they go to sleep. Maybe you should head off early and rest that tired head of yours while you’re at it.”

Watching her walk away, Ben groaned into the kitchen towel. A classic figure of a pathetic man unable to speak with a woman he adored.

His own unthinking mouth was going to be his demise.

* * *

A week flew by with ease.

The second followed just as easy as the first.

* * *

Breha liked mornings.

But with their two latest additions in the house, Breha _adored_ mornings.

She’s get up early—earlier than before—and check in on BB. He’d wake up at the sound of her socked feet on the hardwood floor, panting happily as she unlocked his crate. Leash attached and old sneakers laced on, the two would walk around the backyard. BB used the restroom and drank the cool water from the dripping hose.

Once he got some of his morning energy out, Breha would bring him back in to feed him. His bowl was next to her chair, he chomping on his kibble as she finished up her homework and waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

Her dad would soon wake up and make his version of breakfast—whole wheat toast and eggs and whatever fruit they had and try to get her to eat some. Rey would follow suit, eating the extra toast Dad made and feed BB, thinking he had yet to be fed.

Neither Breha or BB alluded he already had his morning meal, she letting the pup have his secondsies.

But the best part was the drive to school.

Because it was just her and Rey.

Sitting together as the radio played current songs. None of the old folky rock music her dad loved to play and sing under his breath.

No. Rey sang loud and proud as Shawn Mendes played through the speakers, not caring in she was off-key or looked silly to the other commuters on the highway. Sometimes they’d stop at a drive-thru along the way, grabbing donuts or hash browns before getting to school.

Once the school day was over, it would happen all over again. Except this time they’d run a few errands. Picking up groceries because Rey refused to eat take-out every night, didn’t matter if Ben made sure it was healthy portions and had all the veggies in the world and was vegan. A stop at the bank or her house to pick up a few things. Or at the gallery, where Rey had her viewing a few days’ time.

Or they’d make a quick trip to the craft store, where they’d stand in the paint aisle for hours. Rey teaching what each base and oil signified and what worked best, and her preferred brands and canvases. Or they’d look through the sketchbooks, Rey seemingly always searching and comparing as she went through so many books, usually all filled with doodles and half-thought sketches.

A call from Ben would cause them to get their butts back into gear and hurry their way home, both promising to keep the craft store their secret. Because if Ben knew he’d claim Breha had ‘enough paint supplies as it is and doesn’t need to be showered with more.’

Breha thought the contrary; there was never enough, always needing more here and there to complete a project. Her dad didn’t always understand that aspect of her artwork. But Rey did.

The drive to and from school was like an alternate universe. As though it had always been Breha and Rey, against the world, together.

Then she’d remember her dad.

And sure, Rey was great. She sang off-key to pop songs, always tried to understand Breha and hear her out. Wanted to know her perspective, how she felt. Knew art better than anyone Breha ever met. But…

But Rey wasn’t Dad.

Dad was Dad, and Dad knew her best. Could know what she was thinking by one glance. Knew when she was sad and gave her far too many sweets to make up for it even though she didn’t like chocolate. He would check in on her and send lame memes, ones he barely understood, to make her smile.

Because her Dad was _her Dad_ and no one could replace him.

But maybe…Breha had enough room in her heart for a Mom.

* * *

“Does this look okay?” Rey twirled for Breha. The green dress flowed nicely to her calves, dark enough to bring out the color in Rey’s eyes. “Does it say ‘I’m a classy artist’?”

“Yeah,” Breha nodded, glancing up from her laid out history homework. “A lot better than the last one. It was too bright.” Rey had been trying on different dresses for her gallery showing that weekend. A major gallery opening by the sounds of it; a ‘comeback’ gallery showing Rey explained, as she had taken a break when she first arrived to Takodana. “Have you shown my dad?”

“Ben?” Rey uttered before shaking her head. “No. No—he doesn’t need to see me like this or anything like that.”

When Rey wasn’t looking, Breha rolled her eyes. “Sure…”

“Plus you both are coming tomorrow night right?”

“Yup.” Breha flicked another page of her textbook.

“Then you two will see how I look then.” Rey seemed satisfied with her logic, heading towards the door.

Except she paused, turning back to Breha. Her brows were bunched together, mouth twisted in thought… _contemplating_.

Breha learned well and quick, Rey almost always voiced whatever was going on in her head—‘it’s only child syndrome,’ her dad defended once, as though it explained why his face was far too transparent and Rey had a lack of filter.

The teenager didn’t believe it; ‘I’m an only child. I don’t do that. Maybe it is a loneliness thing.’

Her dad shut up after that idea was tossed in.

“Hey, I noticed the dye bottles in the bathroom.” Rey edged back into the room, plopping down on the corner of the bed. Books and paper jolted as Rey shifted and tucked her legs underneath her body. “Planning on dyeing your hair soon?”

“Maybe.” Breha shrugged.

“Why just ‘maybe’?” Rey nudged her with her knee.

“Because my dad wasn’t too keen on it before,” Breha answered, finding the excuse to be adequate.

“But he bought you the bottles didn’t he?” Rey hummed, thinking. “And he told me he liked your dyed hair, thought it gave you some freedom of expression and all that jazz.” Her hands waved and jiggled out; a poor attempt of over enthusiastic jazz hands.

“I mean, _yeah_ ,” Breha stressed, “he did, but…it’s whatever.”

She shrugged.

Rey’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying to me.”

“No I’m not!”

“You are quick to protest!” Rey shot back, fully face her, too stubborn to let the matter die.

“I’m not lying,” Breha grumbled, focusing harder on her history textbook.

“Why don’t you want to dye your hair? You like dyeing your hair.” A finger came under Breha’s nose and bop-ed her on the tip. Breha stared deadpanned back at Rey. “Come on…you can tell me why. Did someone say something to you? If they did I’ll give them detention of the grounds of bullying. Have them write the paper on the importance of sports—I bet lots of art kids love _that_.”

Breha cracked, a smile breaking through. “Fine, fine.” She shifted away from Rey, eyes locked on her scattered papers. Rey leaned closer to listen, ignoring the look of annoyance Breha threw her way. “I don’t want to dye my hair because…”she dropped her voice even lower, hoping her dad wasn’t creeping by her door, “…because Theo in Art History says he likes girls with ‘natural’ looking hair.”

Rey blinked.

A small frown pulled on the corners of her mouth.

Her eyes then widened. “Theo Clovis? The lanky kid who sits in the back—has the dark, curly hair? kind of looks like—” Rey snapped her mouth shut and nodded. “I know who you’re talking about.”

“Well…yeah.” Breha’s face flushed, she ducking her head down and tucking her long hair over her ear. “He wouldn’t like my hair if I dyed it red and it’s whatever anyways, so it’s no big deal.”

Rey sighed at the phrase.

“Fuck what he thinks.”

Breha’s head snapped up, stunned. “Don’t say that!”

“I will!” Rey sat up and climbed off the bed. “No boy is going to make you feel like this. Dye you damn hair if you want to!”

“Shh! My dad can hear you!”

“Good! Who gives a shit what a boy thinks?”

“I do,” Breha bemoaned. “Theo is so gorgeous! I just want to press my face to his.”

Rey winced. “Okay—didn’t need to know that or have that visual.” She shook her head, near shuddering in disgust at the thought. “But the point is, you don’t need to stop your own happiness for some guy. If he really likes you, he’ll like your cool red hair. If he doesn’t, then screw him, there is someone better out there.”

The girl slumped, making herself smaller. “Really? You think someone would like all of this—someone who looks as gorgeous as Theo.”

Rey nodded, confident. “Someone even more gorgeous and can even remember the color wheel.”

“In Theo’s defense he is a musician so he doesn’t necessarily need to know the color wheel.”

“Lets not defend Theo,” Rey quipped. She held her hand out to Breha. “Leave the homework I know you are _not_ really doing and go to the bathroom and get all the supplies together while I change.”

“Really? You’ll help me dye my hair?”

“Of course,” Rey opened the door, mind seemingly set on a mission. “Get some scissors and I can give you a trim while we are at it.”

Breha sprang into action before Rey finished her sentence.

* * *

Sitting at the kitchen counter, Ben was inputting and recording the next week’s financial forecast for the café when a gleeful yelp came from down the hall.

“I love it!”

Slipping off his reading glasses, Ben leaned back to catch a glimpse of Breha and Rey. Except they weren’t in the hall, no doubt dashing back into the bathroom or into Breha’s room.

They’d been hovelled up in the bathroom all afternoon, laughter and shouting heard from behind the locked door. When dinner rolled around, Rey popped out for half a second to collect her and Breha’s burritos and dashed right back into their makeshift fortress.

He once tried to knock on the door only to be ignored.

Yet somehow they heard the dog barking from the other side and let him in.

Ben didn’t even have a chance to remark how unhygienic it was to eat that close to a toilet.

The sound of the bathroom door opening echoed in the house, Ben slipping his glasses back on and acting as though he had not been waiting for them.

“Ben!” Rey cried out from the other end of the house. “Close your eyes! And I’ll tell you when to open them!”

He obliged though not without question. “Why? What did you do to my daughter?”

“Just wait and see.”

More giggles chorused as they came closer, the infiltrating scent of ammonia invading the space around him.

“Now open!”

He opened his eyes—

And almost recoiled.

Because Breha’s hair was…

“Red. It’s really red…like a bright burgundy. And short. I never thought you’d go short.”

Breha beamed.

“Yes, thank you for stating the obvious,” Rey told him. Her hands rested proudly on Breha’s shoulders. “Now tell her what you think.”

There was pressure in the statement.

“You look great, Breha.”

And it was the truth. Her natural hair blended nicely into the dark red, not too harsh and bright like expected when she picked out the color. A softer, warmer red. Far better than the blue that washed her out. Not to mention the shorter cut, a long bob length, suited her face rather than the feathered out long hair she often had.

Not long enough for painstaking braids. But long enough for one simple one.

He could see her sun-kissed freckles again.

“Really, Breha. I like it. I like it a lot.” He smiled. “You and Rey did good.”

Upon his approval, Rey hugged Breha closed to her side. “See? I told you your dad would like it.” His daughter grinned up at Rey, bashful but accepting of the teasing. “Now come on, let’s finish cleaning the bathroom. It looks like a murder scene in there.”

Ben blanched. “It looks like _a what_?”

“Nothing!” Breha squeaked, scurrying off.

He sighed, pained at the thought of what his carefully organized and crafted bathroom now looked like with those two’s mess on full display.

Stepping back, Rey’s nose wrinkled. “It’s probably be best in if you didn’t pop in there until we are done. Don’t want any premature deaths here.” She waved to all of him. “I don’t think the next tenants would want any six foot grumpy ghosts haunting them.”

“Ha-ha,” Ben deadpanned. “You are hilarious.”

“I know I am.” She beamed right back at him, before following after Breha with a skip in her step.

As their chatter filled the house once more, Ben stared at where they stood.

Breha and Rey, shoulder to shoulder. Both giggling and grinning like fools.

He could not help but think of them as his girls. His family.

And it broke his heart to realize the thought was only partially true.

* * *

His bedside clock flashed in bold neon blue numbers _11: 43PM_.

Like clockwork Ben eased himself out of bed. Back popping at the movement, he hissed, pausing.

He glanced back.

Her chest rose and fell in the usual pattern. Up and down, a stutter here or there when she shifted in her sleep.

When she didn’t wake, he continued to move out of the bed.

“Where are you going?”

His movements stilled. He’s only been halfway out of bed, his pillow clutched in one hand.

Peeking over his shoulder, he saw Rey’s face scrunched up. A loose fist rose from under the covers, rubbing sloppily at her eye. Her hair was a mess, flopping half in her face yet she made no move to fix it.

“To…” He realized there was no point in lying if she didn’t know already. “To the couch.”

“Why?” she murmured. Her head was half propped in her hand, she squinting at him. He probably looked like a blurry blob to her without glasses, the frames resting on her bedside table.

When the hell did he start calling it _her_ bedside table?

“Because I do it every night.”

She gave a tired tsk, slumping back against her pillows. “Ben, if you don’t want me sleeping here I can go to the couch—”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve been doing it for two weeks, another week or two won’t kill me.”

“Yes, it will,” she countered swiftly. “Don’t act like I didn’t hear your back pop, old man.”

Huffing, Ben stood up. “No, really it’s fine. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“If I was uncomfortable I’d be sleeping on the couch, not in the bed with you.” She scrubbed at her face, wiping away her sleep. “If anyone is uncomfortable, it’s you.”

“Well, what if I am?” Ben shot back. “What if I am uncomfortable?”

She sat up, more alert than before. “With what? Do you want me to leave—I can leave—”

“Gah!” Ben ran his hands through his hair, his head lulling down. His eyes shot up, meeting hers less than a second later, panic spiking through him as the next words found their way out into the open air. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

“Excuse me—”

“What the fuck are we doing here?” Ben repeated, not caring if he sounded like a broken record. “You are sleeping in my bed. Your clothes are in my closet. You take Breha to school. We cook dinner together every single night. Your dog takes shits in my backyard and you dye Breha’s hair and you make sure that I am drinking enough water, which no one has every done in my entire fucking life!”

Rey stared back at him, mouth opened, but no words getting out.

“We are playing fucking house, that is what we are doing! But we are not even doing the _good_ shit!”

“Like what?” she asked, her voice soft and gentle. Not the slightest bit upset.

“Like-like—I don’t know! Fucking making love! Kissing, going on dates, doing the mushy stuff that I hate, but would probably hate a whole lot less because it would be with you. Because—well, because I love you. And you know that.”

She opened her mouth, but then closed it, chewing her lips together.

“And I know you are never going to say it back.”

“What?” she croaked.

“That you love me,” he uttered, hating how dry and just _fucking_ _sad_ his voice sounded. “You are never going to say you love me. I know that.”

Silence fell over the two.

The sound of the heater hummed on at midnight, echoing through the house.

“It’s not that I don’t.” Her voice small but sure broke through. “Because I do. I know I do, Ben. I just…” She inhaled, sharp and breaking. Her knees rose, hugged close to her chest. Like a frail soul on the street. “I just have never said those words to anyone.” Her throat bopped, her swallow audible. “Not my Granddad, not any friends, no one…and—and I just can’t say it, even thought I know….I know if feel it for you.” He expected tears, except they didn’t come. Rey composed herself, strong and chin held high despite wearing matching red checker pajamas and looking tiny surrounded by the all the blankets they piled on the bed. “I’m sorry I am shit at relationships. And it sucks because you are someone I don’t want to be shit at them with.”

“ _Oh_.”

“Yeah.”

“I uh, I guess I’ll—” Ben motioned to the bed, as though that were an answer itself, “— _yeah_.”

He sat back down on the bed.

Rey scooted closer. And closer.

Until she was beside him.

Her hand reached for his.

Fingers interlocked for the slightest of moments. A light squeeze of digits threaded together, like a well-made puzzle piece.

“Trust me, you’re not shit at it,” he said low, into the crook of her neck. Her words to him now echoed back to her. “If anything we are both shit at it. You’re not alone.” A breathy chuckle escaped him, dancing in short space between them.

“Neither are you.”

No other witty response was uttered, her lips finding his.

Gentle nudging, hands grasping on clothes, pawing for skin to skin.

Neither released the other from their hold, too consumed in the presence of each other.

For once it felt like they were finally doing something right.

* * *

The next morning as they were eating their quick breakfast and grabbing coffee, Breha shoved her phone in Ben’s face. Amazon was opened, showing a package was out for delivery.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“My noise cancelling headphones. They were forty dollars.” She locked her phone, shoving it into her back pocket. “I charged it to your account.”

Ben choked on his toast. “Excuse me?”

“I said ‘no sex in the house’, and I heard a _whole lotta_ sex in the house last night,” she shudder, gagging in horror, “and I probably need to wash my ears out with holy water now.”

“We’re not Catholic,” he grunted, the tips of his ears burning bright red. “And fine, whatever. Call it an early birthday present.” He snapped his fingers, grinning down at his daughter. “Which means I can return your birthday gift now. Thanks Breha, you really helped Dad out with this one.”

“What?” She shook her head, red lock bouncing around. “No! No, that’s not what I wanted!”

“Oh well, that’s what you get. That’s what happens to teenagers who make unauthorized Amazon purchases on their Dad’s credit card.”

“Ugh!” She huffed, marching away to her room. She passed Rey without a word, the woman frowning at the dramatic display.

“What happened?” She pointed back to where Breha left. “She was fine last night.”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Ben answered. “Just Breha being Breha. Toast?”

She looked tempted to argue, but took the toast instead.

Some things were just better left unknown.

* * *

A knock on her classroom door startled Rey, she nearly marking a student’s artwork with her grading pencil.

Lunch time had once again became a lonesome time or spent with co-workers, Breha spending more time with her peers in the cafeteria rather than in Rey’s classroom. A welcomed change; Rey wasn’t too sure if she could handle having Breha with her nearly twenty-four-seven, needing the occasional break from the girl.

Especially since she seemed to be in a grumpy mood for the entirety of the day.

“Come in!” she called out, setting down the still life she’d been grading.

The principal of Yavin Academy of the Arts, Gwen Phasma, entered with a pleasant smile.

A far too pleasant smile for a woman who rarely smiled. Red flags flew up in Rey’s mind, she walking over to meet Phasma halfway through the room.

“Hello Ms. Williams,” she greeted tersely, “no need to stop your work, I just wanted to drop in for a little chat.”

“No worries,” Rey assured her, “just getting ahead on some grading. The kids are doing great by the way, probably the best year I’ve had since I’ve started.”

“And you like it here, yes?” Phasma asked, taking a seat on the edge of one the student desks. “You enjoy the work and the hours?”

Rey nodded, hoping her nervousness didn’t peek through. “Of course! I love it here; get to inspire young minds and teach the wonders of art. I couldn’t honestly ask for more.”

“That’s the answer I was hoping to hear.” The taller woman crossed her arms over her chest, incredibly put out. “To be completely frank, I like you, Rey. You are one of the best teachers we have and I have seen immense growth from all the students under your mentorship. You were a literal godsend to this academy.” She inhaled sharply, eyes shut. “Which is why it pains me to say your position is in jeopardy. The Board of Parents as well as the Teachers’ Committee—”

“I’m _on_ that Committee.”

“I know,” Phasma sighed, opening her eyes. Her lips pursed, considering her words once more. “They both want to reevaluate your position as an instructor at this institution.” She sat taller, to her full height, as though attempting to assert her authority even though every ounce of her protested it. “This is in light of recent information regarding a student, Breha Solo. The Board of Parents believe you were dishonest and withheld information, specifically regarding Ms. Solo’s parentage. You being her biological mother. And they believe she was purely accepted into the Academy due to her relation to you.”

“I didn’t know she was my daughter until a month ago. Applications were evaluated back in April!”

“You were still on the Committee, Rey,” Phasma reminded her, “and you pushed for her. Pushed for her than anyone has done for any other student.”

“Because she is brilliant and talented in her own right!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Phasma shot back, defeated. “I have two groups breathing down my neck about this situation. Something has to be done, and this is us doing something about it.” She passed Rey a slim envelope. “Your trial with the Board of Parents and Teacher’s Committee is next month. If you are found not guilty you get to keep your job and Breha Solo remains a student at Yavin. If you are indeed found guilty, which I know you are not, your job will be terminated and Breha Solo will no longer be allowed to attend the academy. Effective immediately.”

Rey opened the envelope, reading over the dates and times selected for her trial. “This is not grounds for job termination.”

“This is a private institution, Ms. Williams,” Phasma stood up and dusted her pencil skirt, “anything can be grounds for job termination if parents are upset enough.”

With that, Phasma left the classroom.

The bell rang, shuddering through the school.

Students flooded into the room, their chattering consuming every nook and cranny.

_“Hey Ms. Williams!”_ and _“Hi Ms. Rey!”_ came from several students, she giving small smiles and waves with each greeting.

Trying to not cry.

Trying to not break.

Trying to be happy, go-lucky Ms. Williams.

Her students needed happy, go-lucky Ms. Williams.

“Hey are you okay?”

Rey’s gaze dropped down to Breha as the late bell rang. Concerned lined her eyebrows, she knowing there was something wrong.

The girl was knowing her too well these days.

“I’m fine.” Rey forced a smile. She blinked away the stress of tears behind her eyes. “Actually can you do me a favor and text your dad and ask him to pick you up? I forgot I have a meeting this afternoon and can’t bring you home.”

“Oh,” Breha nodded, unphased by the request. “Will do.” She hurried off to her desk, waving to her desk mate, the two getting into quiet chatter.

Rey’s chest constricted at the sight.

Breha loved the academy. She was finally making friends. She was growing and learning.

She couldn’t let her daughter lose her spot at the academy.

“Okay!” Rey called out, gaining her Art History class’ attention. “Today we will be watching a movie—” a series of groans sounded through the room, “oh, I know you like my lectures. They are fantastic.” She pretended to flip her hair over her shoulder, earning a few giggles across the room. “But it think you guys will like it. It’s a documentary on Bob Ross…”

That perked them all up.

Once the movie began streaming on the smartboard and the volume risen to it’s highest point, Rey returned to her desk.

As she watched the documentary, she allowed a few rebel tears to fall.

Because she knew no matter what happened, she was going to have to say goodbye to her students and Yavin Academy. Her gut told her so.

And it broke her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THERE IS A LOT TO UNPACK.
> 
> A LOT.
> 
> And for this chapter I didn't even do everything on its outline. So yeah...more to come.
> 
> BUT TELL ME WHICH PART YOU LOVED! PLEASE TELL ME. Because I loved a lot in this chapter and I want to gush with all of you!


	14. Rachel Was Barren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I will confess this was skimmed over and probably has some ( a lot ) of typos but I tried to catch them. I'll also confess about 4k words of this chapter has been done since the first week of March *hides* But I finally figured out how to tie it all together after not writing anything for over a week because quarantine life kind of broke me for a few days. 
> 
> Anyways...
> 
> If you left a comment on the previous chapter, I'm slowly responding to everyone!
> 
> Typos will be fixed later. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> WARNING: MENTIONS OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH.

* * *

**Rachel Was Barren**

* * *

Stepping into the tiny space, Rey closed the door and sat down on the stiff, wooden bench. She squirmed for a moment, attempting to get comfortable. Yet every which way she shifted, she elbowed the wall.

Huffing, she stilled and set her tote bag down, between her feet.

Remembering she was in a church, Rey quickly did the sign of the cross. The old habit from childhood flowed through her muscle memory. Forehead, chest, left shoulder, right shoulder. A mutter of ‘Amen.’

Hands clutched on her lap, she sat and did not speak.

Despite attending the Catholic Church as child, she’d never been in a confessional. Nor did she attend confirmation or any of the traditional ceremonies.

She and her grandfather moved too often to ever plant roots and attempt to become one with the church. Not that she minded. She’d never been a fan of the Catholic Church. Memorizing hymns was not her forte and she thought the holy communion tasted weird. Not to mention most of the chapel buildings terrifying her.

Dim, ominous, imposing. Stained glass windows glaring down upon her.

All the statues watching her with their sad, Mona Lisa eyes.

Like her grandfather.

Maybe that’s why she never returned once she left his authority.

A throat was cleared.

Rey jumped, hands clasped together and clutched to her chest.

Glancing at the grate, she saw a shadow of a man on the other side.

Right— _the Priest_.

The entire fucking reason she forced herself to enter the closest Catholic Church within a twenty mile radius.

“Um, hello Father, I have sinned?” Rey stuttered out, unsure if she used the right wording.

When a tired sigh came from the other side, she bristled.

“Oi! I’m sorry I’ve never done this confessional shit before—fuck, I didn’t mean to curse in the church.” Her eyes screwed shut, realizing she once again did indeed curse in the place of worship.

The Priest cleared his throat once more, a bit harsher than before. “It sounds like this is your first time here.”

“And hopefully my last.” Rey leaned back against her seat, tense. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“ _Alright_ ,” the Priest replied tersely, speaking more so to fill the air. “If we are not going to bother with formalities, what brings you here? A place you so clearly dislike.”

“I…” Her head lulled to the side, forehead resting beside the cool, metal grate. “I am going through a lot right now. And I panicked.” She rolled her eyes, feeling more dread coil within her. “So I ran to the first place I could think of where I wouldn’t know anyone, but could maybe find help.”

“Are you in danger?” For once the Priest did not sound annoyed, but concerned. Honest to god, concerned.

“No!” Rey sat up, hugging herself. “I’m not in danger, at least as far as I am aware of.” Her Grandfather Palpatine’s stalker tendencies came to mind, but she decide to be mum on the subject. No need to worry a stranger. “But…Father, have you ever made a decision as a kid—” Because yes, she was a kid having her own kid all those years ago. “—and tried your best to forget about it?”

“I think all of us have experienced such a situation. But we must learn to forgive ourselves and move forward, knowing we have sinned, but can be better in the future.” He paused, listening to her silence. “Would you like to confess what is weighing down on you, child?”

“Please don’t call me ‘child’,” she muttered, “I’m an adult.”

“ _Alright_ ,” he grunted. She could see his shadow shaking its head. “What would you like me to call you? Anonymously, of course.”

His eyeroll could be felt through the grate.

“Rachel.”

Her birthname felt foreign, but true.

Afterall, she was confessing Rachel’s choices.

“You can call me Rachel.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning, Rachel?”

Rey inhaled deeply, praying this was the right choice.

“When I was fifteen I gave up my daughter for adoption,” Rey stated slowly, “and I think I always regretted my decision. But I just didn’t realize it until now.”

“That is quite the confession.”

“No, shit,” she hissed, throat dry. Swallowing down her tears, she continued. “But I didn’t have a choice—or maybe I did. My boyfriend and I have argued about my decision—if it was a really a choice or if I just picked the easier option and…” She shook her head, their yelling match from weeks ago replaying like a silent film behind her eyes. “And he’s right. It was a choice. A choice I made; no one else.”

“Ah, a _boyfriend_ ,” he hummed the words like a taunt, “how does he feel about this?”

“He…” Rey chewed on the inside her cheek. _Fuck_.

How could she begin to explain?

“Well… he supports my decision even if he doesn’t quite understand it.”

“Does he feel like he missed out?” The Priest asked, a bit somber. “Missed out on getting to know your daughter? Be part of her life?”

“No,” she stated, her words too honest. “Because he didn’t miss out on anything. _I_ did.”

“I’m…not following.” He shifted on the other side of the booth. “What do you mean he didn’t miss out on anything? It’d be impossible for him to know your daughter—”

“He’s the man who adopted my daughter,” Rey blurted out.

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her eyes, not caring if her makeup got smeared. Frowning, she looked back up at the grate. “Never thought I’d hear a priest curse.”

“It happens more than you’d think.” The shadow shifted again, a heavy sigh laced through his movements. As though he carried more thought and opinion than his obligatory position in the confessional required. “So…this man—your boyfriend—is your biological daughter’s adoptive father? Correct?”

“Yes,” Rey breathed, eyes squeezed shut. “And I didn’t intentionally sought them out either—I am not one of those people, seeking to right their wrongs or any shit like that.”

“Yet you are here,” he reminded her in a swift manner.

“ _Yes_.” Her eyes snapped open. A glare threatened to peek from the corner of her eye. “Because I realize I need to talk to someone. Anyone.”

“Well, Rachel this is not therapy.” The Priest paused. Silence filled the confessional, perhaps waiting for her to object and argue. But she didn’t. She knew this wasn’t therapy. She didn’t want to see a therapist, Poe unconsciously ruining the prospect for her.

She just wanted…

Well, to be perfectly honest, she wasn’t sure what she wanted out of this.

Maybe a chance to unload the weight on her chest.

“I know it’s not therapy,” she echoed back. “But it’s something and I think maybe I have sat with all this…this messy ball of feeling for so long, I need help deciphering it. Figure out what the hell it is I actual feel because my life is…” Her throat thickened, words struggling to wiggle their way out into the air. “Father, my life is taking a weird turn.” She felt idiotic and cliché for putting it such a way, but there was no other way to explain the matter of events that had transpired the last few weeks. “I’ve always had a plan. Since I had Br— _my daughter_. I wasn’t going to fuck up again. I wouldn’t allow it. So I kept close to my life plan—get out of my grandfather’s house, give her to adoption, get emancipated, finish school, get into a good university—I have a fucking plan because that is the only way I can guarantee my life wouldn’t implode again and it always worked. Always worked, even when life tried to throw me curveballs and knock me to my arse.”

“And what of your plan now?”

An empty laugh rippled through her. “My plan is for shit now.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because—because,” she wiped violently at her nose, feeling it burn with unshed tears, “—because I was supposed to be happy. I thought I was happy; I had a teaching job I love and dog and a nice house and…and I didn’t have to worry about anything! Nothing really.” A sniffle punctuated every other word, Rey shoving away the onslaught of tears waiting for her if she allowed herself to think too much. If she allowed herself to sink into the truth of her feeling.

“And now?” came the all too ready question.

“Now?” she croaked. “I worry all the fucking time. If she is having a good day, if she likes me, if she is doing her homework or sketching and ignoring Ben and I. If she is making friends because she had self-esteem issues which is completely idiotic because she is the best and incredible and has so much spunk and light in her. Anyone would be a moron to not see that.”

“Sounds like you care about her.”

Rey scoffed, a half sob swallowed in her effort. “Of course I care about her! She’s my daughter!”

“But she is ruining your plan. The plan you’ve always had,” the Priest reminded her, “the one where you have a home and a dog and a job you love. Somehow she is ruining that, as you have implied. Why would you care about someone who does that?”

“Because…” Rey faltered, the question stumping her. “Because…she’s my daughter.”

“Technically, she’s not anymore if she was adopted. She’s Ben’s daughter. Not yours.”

Rey opened her mouth to argue, but stopped at the mention of Ben’s name. “How—how did you know that was my boyfriend’s name?”

“You mentioned it earlier. A slip of tongue on your part.”

“You Priests really catch everything don’t you?”

“It’s part of the confessional job.”

She snorted. Lazily, she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I guess you’re right. She is Ben’s. But she’s also mine. She’ll always be mine.”

“Have you always felt this way?” Before she could give an answer, the Priest continued. “When you were off living your planned life—the one without a daughter and a boyfriend—that your daughter was still your daughter?”

Her gut sank.

“No.” Pain seared in her at the shattering reality of her words. “No, I didn’t.”

Because Breha was just a picture.

No name, no story, no thought. Just a picture.

A memory of a time Rey never wanted to remember.

A mistake she pretended didn’t exist, buried under a different name.

“But she is now,” she attempted to defend. To herself or the Priest, Rey wasn’t too sure. “Because she’s a real person. Not a crying bundle. A person with thoughts and opinions and…” she shrugged, helpless, “…and I never thought of her as a real person. Until now—well, I mean when I first knew she was mine. It wasn’t until then.” She leaned back against the confessional seat, body sagging. “But I always loved her. Then and now; it was just a different kind of love.”

“I never doubted that, Rachel.”

Silence passed.

Then a tiny huff of a laugh escaped him.

“Did you know your name is biblical?” He asked, straightforward. “Rachel—Jacob’s favorite wife and the mother of Joseph and Benjamin. Also means female sheep or lamb.”

Rey frowned at the grate. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Rachel was barren. Could not conceive children despite possessing Jacob’s love.”

“But she ended up having children, you said so yourself.”

“Through an act of God,” the Priest corrected lightly. “Took many years to have children and she acted as mother to all of Jacob’s other children. You’re a teacher, correct?”

“Yes…”

“Funny how you—Rachel—are a mother figure to others, whether you realize it or not. And you are only now finding the love for your own child, years later. Perhaps in a way you have been barren, and now through an act of God, you are not.”

The observation rattled her core.

No witty response could be uttered. No wise cracking joke.

Silence and tears comforted her, as well as a hymn humming priest on the other side of the grate.

* * *

“I think there is something wrong with Rey.”

Breha’s forehead thumped against the passenger window, staring out at the highway. Cars zoomed by, she not batting an eye as they drove out of sight over the horizon. Soft orange hues dance in and out of the grey clouds, the light morning rain causing an overcast for the rest of the day. A perfect moody sky for a less than decent day.

Her dad flicked on his blinker, turning on to their exit to Ahch-To.

His mouth pulled into a confused frown. “What makes you say that?”

“She’s just been weird the last two days—especially at school.” Lifting her head off the glass, she lulled her head in the opposite direction. “She seemed…sad. But only when we are at school. Like she’s trying to be happy for everyone else, but something is really bothering her.”

“Maybe something is bothering her,” her dad muttered. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he made a left, the opposite direction of their house and towards downtown Ahch-To. “But she hasn’t really mentioned anything.” He then paused, huffing as they came to a stop sign. “Not that she’s tell us if anything were bothering her.”

“Where are we going?” Breha looked around, frowning at the empty roads. The streets were familiar, but then again all the lanes and avenues in Ahch-To were connected and looped around unless they were on the outskirts of town.

“Need to stop at Nana and Papa’s before heading back to the café. I have to cover the late shift today.” He sent her an apologetic wince. “Sorry kiddo, I wasn’t really anticipating having you tag along with me today so you are going to be stuck at the café until Rey gets home.”

A disgruntled pout found its way on to her lips, the girl slumping in her seat. “I can be home alone. I’ve been home along before—and BB would be there! He’s a great guard dog.”

Ben rolled his eyes at the mention of BB.

The man of the house and the dog of the house had yet to become loving towards one another. Instead they were slowly verging on friendly, but from time to time BB still growled under his breath if Ben sat or stood too close to him.

“With everything that happened I still don’t feel comfortable with you being home alone.” His answer was firm, leaving no room for argument. “For all we know that bas—Rey’s grandfather can be watching us. Can be waiting outside our door, demanding we speak with him.” Ben shook his head. “I’m not going to let that situation happen. Okay?”

“Okay,” Breha echoed back. “I just don’t think he’s even around anymore. It’s been a few weeks.”

“Doesn’t mean anything.” He continued on down the road, taking a right once he hit the next street. They drove past a few houses before coming to a stop in front of a blue Victorian style house.

Standing on the yard, Papa Han watered the yard, though halted his work when he saw Ben and Breha hop out of the car.

“Oh look who it is! The light of my life and my lying liar of a son!”

Ben frowned, remaining on the paved path to the house. Breha, however, charged towards Papa Han, wrapping him in a warm bear hug. Burt coffee, dirt, and Old Spice hit her nose, she pressing her face into his shoulder, the soft fabric of his worn gray flannel brushing her chin.

“How’s my kiddo doing?” Han asked, pulling away from the hug. He gave her hair a good ruffle, smirking. “I like the hair by the way. Very bright—just like you.”

“I’m alright. School is school—but I got a dog!”

“What?” Han’s eyes jumped from her to Ben. “You caved and got her a dog?”

“Well, BB’s not really my dog,” Breha corrected reluctantly, “He’s Rey’s dog, which means he’s basically our dog now.”

Papa Han’s jaw dropped, working in wiry smile. “Huh. Rey’s _dog_ is staying at your house?”

“Rey _and_ her dog are staying at our house—”

“Hey Breha,” her dad interjected, patting her on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go tell Nana Leia ‘hi’—I’m sure she misses you.”

She nodded and went without complaint, happy to go see her grandmother. “Hey Nana Leia, I’m here,” she called out as she entered the house, a greeting coming from further in the house.

“In the kitchen,” Nana Leia’s voice grew louder as Breha ventured deeper into the house, past the living room and towards the back of the house, “just making some coffee. Want any?”

“Yes please! I have so much to tell you!”

* * *

The two Solo men watched as she ambled her way into the house, calling out a greeting to Nana Leia.

Once she was out of sight, Han turned to Ben, stunned. “Did she just say, what I think she said?”

Ben rubbed his eyes, squinting back at his Dad. “Can we please not get into this?”

“Are you screwing around with the teacher? Who’s also Breha’s _mom_?”

“We are not discussing this.”

Han gave a boastful laugh. “Not discussing it? Is that why you’ve been avoiding the house for weeks?” Ben didn’t respond to the far too accurate accusation. Instead he shut off the water his dad left running and began coiling the hose. There was a water bill to think of, one his father disregarded like it was his favorite hobby. “Because your mother has noticed. Oh boy, has she _noticed_ ,” Han stressed. “Won’t shut up about it.”

“It’s…it’s not like how it sounds,” Ben relented. He hung the hose on it’s hook by the side of the house. He turned back to his dad, attempting a look of nonchalance. Devoid of emotion. Be plain and unphased. Like he wasn’t over the moon or scared shitless about his current relationship status. “She and I are—”

_“Benjamin Solo! What is this I hear about you having a girlfriend?”_

Ben whirled back to the front of the house. “Yell it for the entire neighborhood to hear why don’t you!”

“Ben! Don’t be so overdramatic!” Leia marched down the steps of her front porch, her soft pink kimono billowing in the wind. Loose linen pants and matching top completed her outfit, along with her clogs. To Ben the casual look felt out of place, so accustom to seeing her in pantsuits—she could never wear a pantsuit again and his imagination would supply the image of Leia Organa _then_ whenever he thought of his mother. Her hair was pulled into a crown braid, adorned with small pearl pins. Ones she had forever and already promised to pass down to Breha when the time came. She was put together despite no plans to leave her house that day.

A stark contrast to her husband, who was wearing sweatpants, a stained flannel, and flip-flops—in the middle of _November_.

Retirement was suiting Leia _well_. And maybe Han even better.

Well, not really well, but okay enough. Leia was still a workaholic and spent almost all her free time working with non-profits and organizations because _of course_ the great politician Leia Organa _would_.

Han hiked more. Went on walks. Joined a bird watching club and attended car shows every weekend. Spent time with his wife—when she was around—and with friends. He liked to take Breha out for breakfast on the last Sunday of every month.

He had a routine and he liked it. A lot.

It was just unfortunate Han’s schedule and Leia’s schedule rarely crossed despite living in the same house.

Some things just didn’t change, even in old age.

“Do you think in that big head of yours?” Leia asked once she reached Ben. “Think about maybe how this can scar Breha—”

“Okay, I don’t need you to lecture me on scarring children,” Ben shot back, hunching a bit to meet her gaze. “And Rey and Breha get along well. Breha was the one who went looking for her.” He shrugged, arms crossed over his shoulders. “You don’t even know the whole story and you are already jumping down my throat.”

“I just don’t want things to go bad.” Leia sighed through her nose, a purse to her lips. “Because Breha is our girl and bringing her biological mother into the mix will…”

“Will what?”

“Make her confused?” Leia tsked. “Or, I don’t know, cause a custody battle? Have you ever thought of that?”

Ben blinked. What his mother suggested was unfathomable. Rey _wouldn’t_. Not ever. Not to mention it’d be practically impossible.

“She has no rights to Breha, Mom,” Ben assured her, “she gave them all up when she put Breha up for adoption. I am in control of how she and Breha interact. I am still the parent in this situation.”

“I just…everything surrounding this feels odd—not right in the slightest.” Leia shook her head. She turned back to face the house, nodding for Ben to follow her back in. Side by side, they walked up the steps in tandem. Han came up the rear, a lazy follow in his gate. Ben didn’t blame him. When Leia was set on an argument and reason, there was no stopping her from speaking her mind. “We hardly know the woman and she’s living with you.”

“You know her well enough.”

“No,” Leia shot back, sending Ben a withering glare, “we don’t.” They breezed by the living room, then the dining room, walking right into the kitchen at the back of the house. “All I know is she is an art teacher, my grandbaby’s biological mother, and is fucking my son.”

“ _Mom_!”

“What?” Leia whirled back to him, toe to toe. “She is, isn’t she?”

Ben choked on air. This conversation _could not_ be happening, could it?

“They only started having sex a few days ago!” Breha chimed in _so kindly_ from the kitchen table. She dunked her cookie in coffee and took a big, smug bite. “Had to get some noise cancelling headphones to sound them out.”

Leia gapped, nearly slamming the kettle on the stove. “ _Benjamin_!”

“You’re getting grounded longer if you don’t shut up, Breha!” Ben shot back to his daughter, Breha chuckling into her mug at the empty threat. “Mom—”

“Ben, at least do it quietly! Don’t need to scar the poor girl!”

Ben scoffed, accosted by the judgement. “Oh, like you and Dad did it ‘quietly’ when I was a kid!”

“It was different then—your father and I rarely saw each other. So each time was a reunion—”

“I don’t need to know this!” Ben marched around her to the cupboard. He pulled down a couple of mugs, one for his mother, his father, and himself. “I don’t need to know about yours and Dad’s sex lives!”

Huffing, Leia twisted on the burner knob, the flame coming to life. “Well who the hell else are you going to go to for advice?”

Han groaned, taking a seat beside his granddaughter.

“I don’t know—friends! I can ask friends!

“What friends?” Han wheezed a hearty chuckle. “Rose? Poe? They can’t help you with this relationship and parent stuff. Not at all.” He shook his head, before a frown marred his face. “And you two weren’t sleeping with each other until a few days ago? And you’ve known her for _how_ long?”

Ben stared hard at his father, eyes drifting to Breha for a brief second.

She was too consumed with eating as many peanut butter cookies as possible.

“Earmuffs, kiddo,” he ordered.

Sighing dramatically, Breha complied, hands pressed to her ears.

“To clarify, a few days ago was not the first time,” he hissed, eyeing his parents darkly. “And we aren’t loud, Breha is just being a little shit right now. And!—Rey is like family. Hell, she sort of is, all things considering. So stop being assholes because Breha and I really like her. A lot.”

When Han and Leia didn’t have any smart remarks to whip out, Ben motioned for Breha to drop her hands.

She listened, picking up another cookie. “I heard everything by the way.”

“What did I say then?” Ben shot back, turning to the mugs to resume making tea (for Han) and coffee for his mother and himself.

“Uh…” Breha drawled out, before shrugging nonchalantly. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

Ben hummed, moving to the refrigerator to grab creamer. “That’s what I thought.”

“I still want to meet this woman,” Leia announced as she sat down in the only other available chair at the kitchen table. She sipped her coffee, eyeing her son in warning over the edge of her mug. “If she is someone important to you two,” she reached over the table and clutched Breha’s hand in her own, “then I want to know her better. Know if she fits in this family.”

“None of us fit in this fucking family,” Han muttered into his green tea. He was never a tea drinker until his doctor told him he consumed too much coffee and it was causing some bowel syndrome. Tea became a staple for Han, contrary to his adamant distaste for the hot beverage. “I’m sure she’s great, son.”

“She is.”

“Just because she is ‘great’ doesn’t mean we can welcome her with open arms,” Leia argued. She sent her granddaughter an apologetic glance, yet Breha’s gaze remained on the plate of cookies. Not grabbing one, but just staring.

Ben knew his daughter was uncomfortable with the conversation.

Rey was still her mother. Not just some woman.

“How about this,” Ben began, “Rey has a gallery showing tomorrow night. She invited Breha and I to come along with her, but it’s open to the public. You guys can come along, maybe invite Uncle Luke if you want, and once its done we can all go out for a late dinner. Together. Like a family.”

Han and Leia shared a glance, the latter shrugging.

“It’s been a while since we’ve all gone out together.” Han nudged his wife, a charming grin on his lips. “Probably not since Breha’s middle school art show. It’s been almost a year.”

“You have a point…” Leia muttered, picking up a peanut butter cookie for herself. Her eyes darted to Ben, shoulders relaxing. “I guess I’ll call your uncle. See if he is free. We’ll make a night out of it. Maybe I’ll even purchase one of her art pieces if it tickles my fancy,” she added with an eyeroll.

Not a complete win, but better than Ben anticipated. So he couldn’t complain. They’d be able to meet Rey for her true self, and not let her past actions define her. Finally understand why she did what she did and be able to see her beyond the meager facts Leia was able to wrestle out of Ben and Breha.

After all, it wasn’t as though anybody in his family knew Rey.

* * *

The Priest cleared his throat.

“As much as I understand this is a difficult subject and life moment to process,” his careful words echoed in the confessional, “you’ve been sitting there crying for over twenty minutes and these confessionals do not have restrooms.”

“Oh, shit,” Rey gasped, scrubbing at her face. “Sorry, sorry.” She reached down and grabbed her tote bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll go ahead and leave—you probably have plenty of other guilty Catholics to soothe and condemn.”

The Priest gave a weary chuckle. “I am not a priest who likes to condemn, but yes. We like to leave this open for others seeking confession.”

Smiling tightly to herself, Rey braved out of the tiny cupboard size room. The bright indoor light of the cathedral stunned her, she blinking away the angry dark spots invading her vision. Annoyed, she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, groaning as her eyes and body adjusted to the open space.

The other confessional door creaked open.

Rey spun around, stunned to see a weary, gray haired man dressed in priest garb, standing before her. He looked less than thrilled to see she stuck around.

He frowned, the grumpiness she sensed from him in full fruition.

“Ah—I thought you already left,” he tsked. He glanced around, an awkwardness set in his frame. As though at a loss of what to do. Apparently, he had never accidently run into his confessors before.

Just as he was about to duck away and march to the offices down the hall, Rey held her hand out to him.

He stared down at it, unsure of what to do with it. With her.

“Thank you, Father…”

“Father Luke,” he supplied, a bit curmudgeon.

He still didn’t shake her hand.

“Right,” Rey crossed her arms over her chest, “Father Luke. Thank you for listening and letting me cry. I really needed that. Brings things into perspective…about myself at least. I think I know what I have to do.”

“Of course.” He nodded at her. “Now please leave. I have other duties to attend to this afternoon and a sister to call back.”

“Right, right,” she took a step back. Then paused. “Hey—what happens at the confessional stays at the confessional right? I am not going to find some whack-ass article about a crazy woman who sounds a lot like me, right?”

An exasperated sigh exhaled through him, he already done with her shit, no doubt. “Confessionals are private and have confidentiality. No one will know what we discussed—besides the Lord.” He pointed to the heavens, Rey unable to argue with that logic. “You are fine, Rachel.”

“Right.” She nodded once more. “Thank you again.”

She did a quick sign of the cross to him.

“Don’t do that unless you mean it,” Father Luke chastised. “You look ridiculous. Goodbye, Rachel.”

Rey dropped her hands and marched her way out of the church.

Despite the watchful eyes of the stained glass windows and the Virgin Mary, Rey felt a bit surer than she’d been a mere hour ago.

Perhaps Ben had the right idea to believe in fate and destiny, Rey finding her life liked to dabble in such a paradigm.

Only if it didn’t hurt to acknowledge the truth of what she had to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...the priest is Luke. Who is going to the dinner. And knows all of Rey's doubts about Breha. Ekkkk.
> 
> And for anyone who is wondering where the heck Palpatine is....just wait for it. He has his ways. Let us not forget Rey has a trial coming up with the school....kind of makes you wonder what Rey is SO sure about.
> 
> Next chapter is the gallery and family dinner!


	15. An Italian Soda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly replying to comments! Will get to all of them soon!
> 
> BTW, I know nothing about art or art galleries besides what I have seen in movies so please be gentle, lol.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later. Enjoy :D

* * *

**An Italian Soda**

* * *

Breha would remember their first family dinner for many years to come.

Mostly because they’d never be allowed to enter the Italian restaurant’s premise for the next ten years.

(Yes, next ten years. The damn waiter wouldn’t even let her in with her date during her senior prom despite her friend making the reservations ahead of time.)

Lodged between Granddad Kenobi and Papa Han, Breha soon realized families, especially hers would never mesh well.

“So you decided living your life and never connecting with your daughter was an adequate choice?”

“I was fifteen,” Rey shot back, “what more do you expect from me? Be in contact with her and Ben?” She scoffed. “No! That wasn’t an option at the time, Leia!”

“A girl needs her mother,” Leia argued, not a budge in her statement, “I sure did.”

“Mom, don’t throw your own grudges about your parents against Rey. She’s not them.”

“Ben,” Han groaned warningly.

“I don’t have grudges against my parents!”

“You just _had_ to go there, didn’t you son?” Han bemoaned.

“Leia, you do,” came Uncle Luke’s pacifist, tender voice.

“Can it, Luke,” his sister scolded, “I just want to understand the logic—” her penetrating, strong boned politician gaze landed on Rey, “—please explain the logic.”

A statement, not a question.

“The logic?” Rey frowned, deep and challenging. “You mean the logic behind me giving up Breha for adoption?”

Hearing her say it stung more than Breha anticipated.

“Yes,” Leia declared, “Why you gave her up for adoption? Especially when you clearly want to be in her life now.”

Breha, while curious, sunk lower in her chair. Part of her was half temped to slither down to the ground and hide under the table until the dinner was over, happy to take her meal on the floor.

Just as Rey opened her mouth to answer—no doubt, smartly and snappish—Ben stood up. “Mom—a word.”

Huffing, Leia tossed her napkin beside her plate. She stood up, tall and full, and followed her son towards the back of the restaurant.

Silence passed over those remaining at the table. Breha’s eyes darted around, finding Rey and Han to be in similar put out and staring into space modes, while Granddad Kenobi continued to sip his water, unphased by the dramatics of the Skywalker clan.

Clearing his throat, Luke reached to the center of the table and grabbed the basket of complimentary bread rolls.

“Carbs are the Lord’s gift in the these situations.”

He passed the basket around, everyone grabbing one out of politeness.

Except Breha and Rey—they each grabbed two.

Luke chuckled at the sight. “Like mother, like daughter.”

“I’d really prefer it if you didn’t speak, please” Rey muttered, hazel eyes threating death. With a vicious tug, she ripped a piece of bread and shoved it into her mouth. “Didn’t know priest’s confidentiality disappears once their sister comes into the picture.”

Breha shoved more bread into her mouth. She’d never heard Rey sound so demure and…well, terrifying.

Yup, a quiet and still Rey was the most terrifying Rey. Because it was like she coiled up all her emotions and anger into a ball trapped inside her and had to try her best to keep it all tied up, locked away to prevent a massive explosion of fury.

“I…” Luke glanced around the table. Han and Granddad Kenobi paused their own drinking and eating to listen, both intrigued by the flushing and gapping fish Luke became in the span of three seconds. “I…did not realize Ben was my nephew Ben and your daughter was my grand-niece Breha.”

Rey’s icy demeanor entered another chilling ice age. “That’s not an excuse.”

“Got to agree with Baby Mama there, kid,” Han chimed in. “Isn’t there like an oath—”

“Yes, but…” Luke pursed his lips, for once looking like his fraternal twin. “…but I have my own struggles with adoption and whatnot and I felt I had to discuss this with my sister since she is the only one who understands—”

“I told you personal things in _confidence_!” Rey hissed, a crack in the icy façade. “Under the oath of the Catholic Church—”

“You aren’t even Catholic!” Luke reminded her without missing a beat. “You looked like you wanted to throw up for even being in the building!”

“But you are!” Rey’s jaw clenched, she shaking her head. “And I thought—” A crack edged in her voice, she picking up the napkin from her lap and dropping it beside her plate. “Excuse me, I need to use the loo.”

Breha watched as Rey left for the restrooms located on the other side of the restaurant, hoping her slumping shoulders weren’t due to impending tears. Hoping she’d come back in a couple of minutes and declare they should just skip to dessert and head on home. Home where it could just be the three of them and not everyone else.

Be a family away from the criticism.

But Rey didn’t come back after a few minutes.

In fact neither did her dad or Nana Leia. Just Breha with her grandpas and uncle.

Tears welled and trailed down her face.

She felt like a fool for crying. Crying in the middle of the busy restaurant where she could hear her dad and Nana Leia’s and Rey’s voice escalating into a full on shouting match in the back restroom halls.

“I can order you an Italian soda. Will that make you cheer up, kiddo?” Papa Han asked, an awkward twinge to his voice. He was never great with tears. He’s shove ice cream and lollipops in her face whenever she tripped and scrapped her knee as a toddler. He thought sugar was the answer to everything.

So Breha nodded, because at least he was trying.

She couldn’t say so for the rest of her family.

“Sure, Papa Han. I’ll have an Italian Soda.”

* * *

“How would you feel If didn’t teach at Yavin Academy anymore?”

The brush paused in her hair, Breha’s eyes connecting with Rey’s through the bathroom mirror.

“Why wouldn’t you teach at Yavin anymore?” Breha set down the brush. She picked up the pearled hair barrette, fiddling with the clip. “I thought you loved your job.”

“I do. I do,” Rey assured her, rubbing hair product in her hands before finger combing it through her short, chestnut locks. Hair product Breha was positive was her dad’s, but she didn’t comment. Her dad had more than enough to spare, Rey taking advantage of his hair sensibilities a smart choice in her case. “But maybe it’s time for change. I’ve been there for a few years. Nothing wrong with looking for something new.”

“But why would you leave a job you love?” Breha simply did not understand the logic behind leaving a job Rey clearly adored. Teaching was second nature to the woman, almost as natural as her artistic abilities. Leaving did not make sense. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s just a thought,” Rey shrugged, eyes locked on the mirror. “Nothing to worry about. Forget I even mentioned it.” She riffled through her makeup bag, pulling out a tube of mascara. “Now, do you want me to help you put on some make-up or just let you try yourself?”

Breha went white as a sheet at the thought attempting to do her make-up herself. “Help me, please!”

Rey ushered Breha to sit on the toilet seat, the girl complying. She stuck her neck and face out for the ready, hands still clasping the pearl barrette on her lap.

“Okay, relax a bit,” Rey ordered, untwisting the wand of mascara. “This going to go near your eye, so don’t freak out if it looks like it will poke you. Because if you freak out, then I freak out and I will _definitely_ end up poking you.”

Breha chuckled, feeling Rey’s own concern and panic at the thought.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay.” She smiled up at her mother.

Rey’s hands paused, her own gentle smile forming on her lips.

_Content_ —Rey, for the first time in weeks looked content. Like nothing else could bother her.

Breha hoped her mom could smile with no worries more often. Because it was the best thing in the whole world.

* * *

Dinner was going to shit. Ben knew it the moment his mother and Rey met face to face. He expected Rey to stay at the table with the rest of the family, perhaps eat her weight in complimentary bread rolls. He didn’t expect her to round the corner as he and his mother found themselves in the trenches of an age old argument—

Was Ben being a decent parent? Was he capable of providing Breha what she needed? Was he doing his absolute best?

Leia never thought he did. Not since he claimed he could raise Breha on his own after his failed engagement. He running to his parents for help in the early years only fueled his mother’s opinion, she claiming her concerns were far more valid than he realized.

This night was just another bullet point on her laundry list of reasons he could be _better_.

Leia trapped Rey head-on. “Are you going to try to take Breha away from Ben?”

“Excuse me?” Rey uttered, aghast. “No—no—Ben is Breha’s dad. I would never—”

“Well, that is what we are all thinking,” Leia confessed, sounding more chocked up than she’d been a few minutes ago. “That little girl is ours—only ours. You gave up all rights to her the moment she left your arms.”

“Mom, can you stop?” Ben hissed, hands running through his hair. “You are causing a scene—”

“I need this woman to understand where she stands with us—”

“With you, Mom. How she stands with you. It’s just you who is acting like this,” Ben corrected, dropping his voice low. “Can you please stop? No one is going to take Breha away, damn it.”

“I cannot lose another child.” Leia barreled through any attempted arguments or tranquilizing the situation. “I wasn’t able to be there for you Ben and I regret everything that entailed. I cannot imagine the same happening for Breha. _We’re_ her family.”

The tension sagged from Ben’s shoulders, he hunching lower to face his mother. Despite being tucked away in the restroom hall towards the back of the restaurant, there was little privacy. Several patrons came and went, sending curious and concerned glances at the trio.

He understood the fear. Hell, he had that fear too when all the pieces clicked into place. Rey held more gravity in their life; she wasn’t just a passing face or an outside walking into the fold. She’d been there all along, lost in the shadows of paperwork and distance.

A difficult pill to swallow. One that took his days to achieve and time to process where they stood.

The only difference was he loved Rey. Knew her before he knew the truth, knew who she was as a person before another layer of purpose and connection draped over their relationship.

Leia did not have that.

His mother saw her granddaughter’s birth mother entering the picture fifteen years too late. Nothing could heal the hurt except time and effort from all parties involved.

Ben wondered if this night was asking for too much. If he’d been putting everyone he loved in an uncomfortable positions, asking them to love and accept one another in the span of a couple of hours.

“Mom, of course we are Breha’s family! We are the only family Breha has ever known.” His hand latched to Rey’s; warm and forgiving, unwilling to let her wander or be forgotten in the chaos. She remained still and by his side during his mother’s onslaught. “But Rey is her family, too. Just because she wasn’t there in the beginning doesn’t mean she matters any less. If it wasn’t for her choices, we’d never have Breha in the first place.”

His mother blinked, jaw tightening as she absorbed his words. Without bothering to speak to either again, she pushed passed the two and marched back to their table.

* * *

“You know if you don’t want to be here you don’t have to. It’s voluntary.” Rey shifted from heel to heel, unable to soothe the upset in her bones.

She never invited anyone to her galleries.

Sometimes Poe would drop by if he caught the gallery by word of mouth. Or her Granddad Kenobi, he seemingly showing up without fail to each she mentioned, even when in passing.

But those were different.

They all came on their own accord, surprising her.

She never asked him.

But Ben, she asked.

She asked if both he and Breha would come. For some reason, it put her on edge, like teetering on a plank. A back and forth with unbearable nervousness. Yes, they’d seen her work, online or half-finished in her studio in Ben’s case.

But this was new and different. Because they’d never seen her work on display. Lit and arranged to be pleasing to the eye, to showcase her artistic touch.

What made the matter all the more significant was Rey wanted them to be there.

She’d never wanted anyone to attend her gallery. Embarrassment may have been the culprit, but Rey knew it was beyond such trivial thoughts.

_No one cares for an artist._

_No one will care for your work._

_You are worthless._

“Of course, I’d want to be here.”

Ben’s warm lips pressed to her temple, a kiss of reassurance, an arm wrapped around her shoulders in comfort. Then the anchoring arm left her, she feeling the cool gallery showroom air. Only a few outings together did Rey come to the conclusion Ben wasn’t a fan of public displays of affection. Not that she was either…but it felt nice to have his arm around her. She felt less alone in the trappings of her mind.

“And Breha is loving it here.” He motioned to Breha, the girl shoving another piece of cheese in her mouth as she stared at a piece few feet away from them. Not one of Rey’s works, but one of the other two artist’s pieces showcased that night. “I haven’t seen her this excited about anything in…a while,” he said with a chuckle. He cleared his throat, the chuckle long gone, his face his ‘bah-humbug’ neutral and unamused. They both knew Breha was experiencing a lot of change in a short amount of time, the stress pulling on her contrary to her forced smiles. Seeing her happy about anything outside of their own little world was a relief. “I think it’s pretty special the first real gallery opening she’s attending is yours.”

A flush flooded her cheeks.

God, could he make her feel like a school girl in the trenches of a crush.

His hand found hers, grasping with a steadiness she had come to associate with Ben the last few months. The grumpy lines in his expression faded away to a softness he only shared with her and their daughter.

“Want to show me around?”

“I’d be honored to.”

Together, hand in hand, they strolled the gallery. Like a real couple.

Together, they made sure to at least keep one eye on Breha and her whereabouts. Like real parents.

Together, things felt right.

* * *

“Maybe this wasn’t the right decision.”

Ben’s head shot up.

“What do you mean, ‘the right decision’?”

“Having everyone here.” Rey motioned back to the direction of their table. Neither could see it, see how Leia was acting—perhaps touting perfect smiles and charm, like the politician she’d always be at heart. “Here together like everything is okay.”

“Because everything will be okay—everything is okay.” Ben screwed his lips tight, hoping to find the words to soothe Rey’s doubts. “My mom is not easy to win over and I can tell you right now, her opinion does not hold weight in this,” his hand waved in the space between them, “or in how we handle this with Breha. She’s just one voice.”

“But how does the rest of your family feel about this?” She mimicked his gesture, a bit looser and aggressive. “About us? About me being around Breha?”

“They don’t have a say—”

“How do they feel about this, Ben?” Rey edged closer, a panicked resolute swirling around her. “I need to know.”

“They—” Ben felt the words rest in the back of his throat. He didn’t have extensive conversations with his family. He loved them—he did—but he knew love did not always equate to like. “They have opinions.”

His copout did not go unnoticed. “That’s not an answer.”

“Are we really going to talk about his right now?”

“Yes, we are.” Rey shifted from foot to foot, barely keeping her balance in her low heels. She’d been reluctant to wear them in the first place, not a fan of heels or anything uncomfortable on her feet. Sneakers were her favorite, Ben positive she had more pairs in his closet than he owned the last few years…and that was not her entire collection.

He rested a hand on her elbow, steadying her before she twisted her ankle or took an unfortunate nose dive into the ground.

But she stepped back. Out of his grasp.

His hand hung in the air.

A cool swath of rejection filled his lungs. Ben dropped his hand back to his side.

“They don’t all agree with my decisions.”

* * *

“I mean, she seems like a nice kid.”

“She’s almost thirty.”

“Everyone is a kid to me,” Han grunted, sipping at his wine. There’d been a wine bar, Han heading there first before greeting anyone else at the gallery. Ben was tempted to knock the damn thing from his dad’s hand, knowing Han’s doctor would give another lecture at his next check-up. “But she seems nice. Like she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“She does.”

“Sure, she’s made some mistakes. But don’t we all?” Han chuckled. He took a generous sip of his red wine, the small glass almost empty. He cringed at the taste. “Breha and her look…”

He exhaled, eyes wide. His gaze was zoomed in on the mother and daughter, Rey discussing one of her pieces with Breha. The two erupted into giggles, Rey shushing Breha, hoping to keep their voice lower than the soft playing music in the space. Arm in arm, they made their way over to the next piece, more somber but heads tilted towards each other in hush voices, chatting.

Han huffed, a bit of a shake to his head, “… _a lot_ alike. It’s uncanny. Unnerving. There is no doubting she is her daughter.”

“Yeah…” Ben breathed, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets. A bit of sudden pride bubbled in his chest. “I know.”

“Let’s hope that’s the only thing she got from her.”

Ben frowned.

Before he could say anything else, Han began to walk off. “Need to go check on your mother,” he muttered as an excuse, making his way over to Leia a few paces away.

* * *

“My dad likes you.”

“Okay, that’s a plus I guess.” Rey nodded. Her arms crossed over her chest, still keeping her distance.

A clattered echoed, the commotion in the kitchen a few feet away momentarily drowning their conversation.

Waiters left in a flourish, arms laden with food.

Rey’s stomach growled. Ben knew she’d been too nervous to eat all day, this the first meal she’d be sitting down to eat. And of course, she’d be missing it. He knew he needed to put this conversation to bed before it spiraled into an unnecessary argument, ending with one of them attempting to leave before the dinner was done.

Ben wouldn’t put it past Rey to flee.

He scrambled his brain for the positives his dad said, trying not to think about the one phrase echoing in his mind— _Let’s hope that’s the only thing she got from her_. “Thinks you have a good head on your shoulders.”

“Oh.” She didn’t seem too excited by the compliment, but accepted it nonetheless. “Okay.” Rey lifted her stronghold eyes back to his. “Any other thoughts from the peanut gallery?”

“Uh…”

* * *

“Uncle—I didn’t think you’d make it,” Ben uttered, stunned his Uncle Luke would even bother to show. Art had been a fleeting hobby for him in his youth; he’d since then moved on to several careers and hobbies of his liking. The latest happened to be priesthood, a direction Ben believed Luke had been marching towards his entire life.

“Ah, well to meet Breha’s mother is not an occasion to take lightly,” he said, the words well-rehearsed and not read with great emotion. Not a surprising turn out from Luke.

Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Resting a hand on Rey’s back, Ben gestured to his uncle then to her. “Uncle Luke this is Rey Williams, she’s Breha’s mother and my…girlfriend.” He tried not to think how pubescent he sounded introducing Rey in such a way. Like he was some kid introducing his family to his first girlfriend—not that Ben ever had a girlfriend in high school. He’d been too awkward and a loner to ever accomplish the milestone. His inner humility went unaware, Rey staring at Luke like she’d been shocked still. “Rey this is my Uncle—”

“ _Father Luke_?” she uttered, face melting into complete, all-encompassing horror.

Ben stilled. “Wait—how do you two know each other?”

“Ah,” Uncle Luke presented a pleasant face, though his eyes screamed of apathy, “uh—Rey is Catholic—”

Ben’s eyebrows jumped. “You’re Catholic?”

“I’m not Catholic,” she spat, disgusted by the thought.

“Was Catholic,” Uncle Luke corrected. “And she has visited—”

“I need another glass of wine,” Rey announced, her glass full, “if you’ll excuse me.”

She walked away in a hurry, her forest green tea length dress swishing around her shins in a flurry. She spared a quick glance over her shoulder, but looked away when Ben made immediate eye contact.

He whirled back to Uncle, unable to understand why he had Rey within his grasp one moment and she was at the other end of the room in another. “What was that about?”

“I…” Uncle Luke cleared his throat, going into a small coughing fit. His old age somehow wore more on him than his sister, Ben surmising his Uncle may have received the short end of the stick in the twin gene pool. He swallowed, giving a reassuring grimace. That is, if a grimace could be reassuring. “I…may have had a woman who is distinctly similar to Rey—down to just about everything,” Ben rolled his eyes at the blatant lie, “—come to a confessional and I have _concerns_.”

He said ‘concerns’ like it was a deathly virus. One too taboo to discuss in public.

An aggravating response if Ben heard any.

“I don’t care about your concerns.” Ben glanced to where Rey disappeared. She had two more glasses of wine in her hands. She downed one with ease and slowly sipped the other. That… probably wasn’t a good sign. “And didn’t you take an oath? Aren’t you supposed to keep what is said in the confessional between yourself and the confessor?”

“For never attending a single mass, that wasn’t half bad,” Luke attempted to praise.

“ _Luke_ ,” Ben pressed, “what the hell? What concerns could you possibly have? I know everything I need to know, more than a priest who cannot take an oath seriously.”

“Oaths mean nothing to me when my family is of the matter,” Luke argued, a steeling glare directed to Ben. “I am just concerned about you and her and Breha. I don’t think someone like her is a good match for your family.”

“And you know what is a good match for me? An uncle who willingly kicked me out of his place—”

“Oh, _this_ again,” Luke muttered, a side eyeroll add as an icing on the cake, “yes, please bring up old grudges. That was twenty years ago—let it go, Benjamin. I made mistakes. _I get it_.”

“And you stick your nose where is not needed—”

Luke scoffed, face stern and forming into the grumpy classic Luke he loved to embodied whenever he was faced with Ben. “It’s not sticking my nose when she comes to a confessional and spills her guts.”

“Yes. Yes it is—”

“No it isn’t, not when I am concerned for your wellbeing—”

“My ‘wellbeing’?” Ben dropped his voice low, catching a few people sparing curious side eyes their way. He rested a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, leading him to the refreshment table. A cheese skewer was passed to the old man, his nose wrinkling at bite size food. “You’ve never cared for my wellbeing.”

“That’s a lie. I have.”

“Then you have a shitty way of showing it. Like telling me my girlfriend and I are not a good match,” he hissed under his breath. “I don’t get it—it’s like you have vendetta against my happiness.”

“It’s not that, Ben,” Luke nudged him along. They stopped in front of an art piece gaining little traction. A blue and beige background all blurring together, a shadow of nothingness out of the corner of his eye. “I just don’t think it’s the right match for right now. It is not easy to be in a relationship with trauma and pain. To be with some still trying to figure out who they are—it’s not their partners job to fix them.”

Ben felt an old wound reopen at the brutal and honest words. He knew he had his issues in the past. His own demons to battle; ones he still faced on his own, in silence. “I know who I am. I don’t need fixing.”

“I’m not talking about you.”

Luke looked up at the piece beside them.

Ben paused, finally looking at the artwork for the first time himself.

A hidden outline of a young girl stood out amongst the grayness of blue and beige, lost in a blurred chaos. A slip of an illusion in nothingness.

The sight cause a twinge of heartbreak.

Ben wasn’t surprised to see the artist was Rey.

* * *

“Luke has his concerns. But he always has concerns.”

“I don’t give a shit what that man thinks.”

“Glad we are on the same page about that,” Ben joked.

Rey didn’t laugh, but her lips twitched.

“It doesn’t matter what they all think. Breha is the only one who matters, and she adores you.” He rested his hand on her shoulders, bringing her closer. “Please, remember that.” Her shoulders relaxed, reaching loosely at his right hand. Keeping him there. “Plus, your Granddad Kenobi seems happy about this. The happiest I have seen him.”

“Yeah,” Rey peeked up at him, a bit shyly, “he’s something like that.”

* * *

“You are making a terrible decision.”

Rey choked on her wine. “Excuse me?”

Her favorite grandfather had arrived about an hour into the showing, cane in hand and warming smile on his lips. He’d greeted her and introductions had been made, Kenobi chuckling as Ben gave him a hug. Jokes of serendipity and fate were thrown around between the two Bens, Rey unable to contain her glee at their natural comradery.

That of course, all changed the moment Ben stepped away to check in on Breha, who cornered one of the other artists of the night—Cassian Andor—and had not stopped asking him about his work.

A rescue needed to commence, and more than one apparently.

“Ben Solo?” Granddad Kenobi tutted. “I love the boy—hell, he’s named after me, but he has enough on his plate.”

“I thought you wanted me to meet Breha, be part of her life?” Rey asked, allowing her granddad to lead her away to another spot in the gallery. She smiled and nodded to a few familiar guests, but the vice grip on her arm caused most of her attention to be locked on the stubborn old man.

“I do want you to be part of Breha’s life,” Granddad Kenobi patted her arm, cold and wrinkled hands reminding her how quickly her grandfather was aging. “But I did not mean for you be shacking it up and snogging her father. I thought you’d have more sense than that.”

“More sense?” Rey’s feet halted as Granddad Kenobi motioned for her to sit at the bench. The area they ventured off to was far more quiet than where they’d been, tucked into the corner where Din Djarin, or better known as _The Mando’_ s, least favorite piece has been placed. He mentioned in passing he didn’t want it part of the collection, but Amilyn insisted, and he wasn’t one to tell Amilyn ‘no’. The compromise was the well hidden placement, a gift for those who ventured far enough. “What do you mean more sense? I had no idea Breha was mine—”

He scoffed, unbuttoning his jacket and taking a seat beside her. “How can you possibly not see it beats me.”

“I honestly had no idea. Neither did Ben. And it was a shitshow—you have to believe me when I tell you it was a shitshow when all was aired out.”

“I didn’t need to believe you—I know both you and Solo well enough to know it was probably the next great war with your stubbornness and his dramatics.”

Rey snorted, feeling the threatening tears fade away. “Yeah, you can say it was near that. But then he listened and I listened and…and we are figuring it out. I can say we are figuring it out because we both care for Breha too much to fuck this up.”

Granddad Kenobi sighed, his shoulders sagging, then pin-straight once more. “I’m disappointed you didn’t come to me. Didn’t talk to me about this.” He clasped his hands together, rubbing his aching joints. “Instead you ignore my calls. Ignore my texts, reschedule dinner after dinner, and then send me a well-worded email detailing how you are now living with the Solos, Breha knows who you are, you are resigning your position at the school, and you and Benjamin are an ‘item,’ as your generation likes to so adequately put. There is no other way to say this, but that was tactless, my dear.” His lips pursed, then were chewed back into a dejected frown. “You once told me everything, Rachel.” She winced at the use of her birth name. He only used her birth name when he was gravely disappointed or upset. This matter was not exception. “But now you hide things and are closing up, and I thought we were past this.”

“We _are_ past this,” she insisted. She reached of his hand, his left palm sandwiched between her own. “I open up. I talk more—”

“Then why did you hide this from me?”

“Because…because I thought you’d be upset. Or warn me to not get close,” she confessed. A truthful statement because while she adored her Granddad Kenobi, she feared disappointing him. Feared giving him a reason to stop caring about her and loving her. “I didn’t want to make you upset, Granddad.”

“I just need to know—is this man worth it? Do you love him?” He laid his free hand atop hers. “Is he worth risking your relationship with your daughter?”

“Of course I do. And Breha is happy,” Rey said, not seeing the problem. “She likes us all in one home.”

“But can you keep it that way?” His eyes locked on hers, warning her to be careful. “Being in a child’s life is not a thing to take lightly. Stepping into a role of a mother is not a temporary job, it is lifelong. It will never end. You cannot leave when times get hard, you cannot jump at a job opportunity because you feel like it, you cannot live life as solely Rey. It is ‘Rey _and_ —’.” He bent down to catch her downcast gaze. “Can you do that now, Rey? Can you say honest to God you _can_?”

Her mouth went dry.

“I—”

* * *

Hand in hand, Rey and Ben made their way back to their table.

Breha perked up at the sight of them. The majority of her cherry Italian Soda slurped away and leaving a little bit of residue at the corner of her mouth.

“You’re back.” She sat up, ready to dig into her untouched chicken alferdo. The rest of table was well into their meal, pausing their bites to spare the couple an acknowledgement. “Are you guys going to eat?”

“Yeah, we are. But we’ll make it quick. We don’t want to keep anyone here longer than necessary,” Ben said, sending a stern look to the rest of his family. He pulled out Rey’s chair for her, she sitting down. He followed suit, taking the open seat beside her. They both began to eat, their food growing cold in their absence.

Silence once more fell over the table.

Leia was watching Rey and Ben like a hawk, while Uncle Luke watched Leia with a set jaw, aggravated. Granddad Kenobi paid to mind to either, slowly eating his food and munching on complimentary bread, smothered with butter.

Papa Han was very much the same manner, though he continued to check in with Breha, giving her a wink whenever they made eye contact.

He just wanted to make sure there were no tears. He couldn’t stand to see her cry.

“Do you think I can have another Italian Soda?” Breha asked, making sure to keep her voice low but light. Hoping to distract from the uncomfortable atmosphere.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Rey and Ben looked at each other, a bit stunned by the other. Their contradicting answers caught the attention of the table.

“You…should listen to your dad, Breha,” Rey said, dropping her eyes back to her plate. She poked listlessly at her food. “If he says ‘no’, it’s no.”

She returned to eating. Everyone else followed her lead.

Except Ben—he could not stopping staring at Rey.

And Breha could not look away from her parents.

Something happened. But no one knew what.

* * *

“Ah, there she is,” came an accented voice from behind Rey, “the artist of the hour.”

Turning away from the wine bar, one empty glass of wine in one hand and one full in the other, she found Cassian Andor greeting her with a wide smile.

She returned the grin, shaking her head. “I cannot be called such a thing! I have not heard a single soul talk about my work. It is you they adore, Cassian.”

“No,” he waved her off, “it’s all lies and you know it, _mija_.” He stepped up and ordered his own glass of wine, nodding and waving to a few people he recognized. “Come on, talk to me. We haven’t seen each other in ages. Tell me who is that man with you? _Es tu novio_?”

“Uh, yes,” Rey answered, glancing over to where Ben and Luke were standing. Ben quickly led Luke over to the refreshments, the two chatting as they walked. She smiled in appreciation of his appearance. Slouchy sweaters and flannels were the norm with Ben, and she adored each and every one, but that night he cleaned up. Dressed in dark blue suit and black dress shirt and tie, he looked put together. More put together than he looked days previous while he worked on the café’s website, pounding hard on keys as he struggled with technology. “That is my _novio_ —Ben.”

“He suits you.”

“Thank you,” she said in earnest. “I like to this so too.”

The two artists walked together and drank their wine, catching up on a long forgotten friendship. At least two years had passed since they’d spoke face to face, Rey practically squealed with glee when she heard her old friend would be a featured artist along with her.

“Is your wife well? Last I heard she picked up tenure at Jedah University.” Rey had a habit of following Jyn Erso-Andor’s career, fascinated by her travels and progress, the anthropology professor easily one of her heroes. She’d met the woman a handful of times, through her husband Cassian, the man an adjust professor for one of her courses when completing undergrad. He became a mentor in way, always checking in with her, seeing her progress. Becoming a friend. Maybe it was their similar backgrounds, or perhaps their kindred spirits, but Rey and Jyn got along swimmingly.

“Yes, Jyn is doing great,” he said, letting Rey lead the way, “enjoying Jedah and all its history. I’m actually heading back to Jedah later this week. Spending some time there before heading back and packing up the rest of the house up north.”

“Ah, so making the permanent move?”

“Si,” Cassian nodded once, “I can do art anywhere, but mi amor doesn’t always get these opportunities. We got to take advantage while we can. Plus I’ll be working as a studio instructor next semester. They like to keep it in the family there.”

“So is this gallery a ‘goodbye’?”

“More like a ‘see you later,’” he confessed, “we plan to return for retirement. But that’s another good twenty years away.” He bumped her shoulder playfully. “And you, _mija_? How is work?”

“It’s…not great,” she told him truthfully, not seeing the point of lying to her former professor, “I work for a private arts school, and I love it. Loved it more than I thought I would since I was never much for conventional teaching. But it looks like I might not have a job at the end of the semester…”

“Budget cuts?”

Rey pursed her lips, wincing. “More like… I may have a conflict of interest attending the school, though I did not realize I had a conflict of interest when she was accepted, but now a commitee may or may not be putting me on trial.” She shrugged. “That kind of ‘not having a job at the end of the semester’.”

Cassian cringed, patting her shoulder. “I see. Private schools can be sticky. Parents are another beast.”

Rey cheered to that statement, taking a hearty sip of her wine. “That they are.”

“Well, if you are looking for a job, Jedha University has an opening.”

Rey’s feet stuttered to a stop. “What?”

“For a Art History professor, in fact. Looking for adjunct since one of the art professors will be going on maternity leave next semester. They’ll even let you live on campus since it is difficult to find cheap boarding in the city.”

“Are you telling me there is an opening or are you giving me the job?” she joked.

Though Cassian’s serious expression told her there was no jest in the matter.

“They haven’t opened the position yet to the public. They are letting recommendations come in right now. Jyn has a recommendation ready, I do as well since I’ll be on staff this semester. Just say the word Rey and the job can easily be yours.”

“Oh,” Rey exhaled.

That certainly changed things.

This was an opportunity landing on her lap when her teaching career felt like it was reaching a dead-end.

“I…I want to say ‘yes.’”

She looked away from Cassian, struggling to find the right answer. Her eyes instead caught sight of Breha and Ben, her boyfriend and daughter muttering to each other, both with semi-grumpy expressions. He directed Breha away from the cheese, the girl attempting to get her third plate full.

Ben huffed, relenting. He let Breha grab a few more cheeses and then led his daughter away, towards where his own parents stood off to the side.

Her chest panged.

“Send the recommendations. I’d be happy for the opportunity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is wondering about the trial...that will be discussed next chapter among other things that were alluded to as well.
> 
> And don't worry...someone or something will knock Rey out of this self-doubting funk.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting!


	16. A Resignation Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSIONS OF EMOTIONAL ABUSE. CONFRONTATION OF ABUSER. BRIEF MENTION OF SELF HARM. 
> 
> Typos will be fixed later. Enjoy!

* * *

**_A Resignation Letter_ **

* * *

Rey knew she needed to tell Breha.

It’d been her plan to bring it up during dinner on Wednesday. The letter of resignation would already be out of her hands, on Phasma’s desk, and there’d be nothing left to do to stop her. No one could convince her otherwise. After all, they’d be on Thanksgiving Break for the rest of the week, school resuming the following Monday.

She just didn’t anticipate on her decision to be discovered in the most unexpected way.

“What the hell?” Breha shoved the laptop in Rey’s face. “Why is there a resignation letter open on your laptop? And dated as of yesterday!”

Rey shot up from the couch, reaching for her laptop. “Breha—"

The girl skirted away, carrying the laptop away with her. The two circled around the coffee table, Rey feeling less in control of the moment the more Breha’s face crumpled into a stubborn, watery glare. “No! What is this? Why are you resigning?”

Rey felt panic bubble inside her chest; she never handled Breha in this—this panicked induced form. It was like she possessed an extraordinary concoction of both her and Ben’s anxieties.

“I—I’m getting a job elsewhere.”

“ _You’re leaving_?”

* * *

**Tuesday, The Day Before**

“What would happen if I didn’t attend the trial?”

Gwen Phasma did not flinch at the question, as though expecting it. “You’d be fired on the spot.”

“Damn,” Rey hissed, slumping in the stiff chair. Everything about Gwen Phasma’s office was stiff, polished, and maintained. A shining oak desk, dusted and organized to optimal function. Accolades lined the walls with exact precision, not a single frame tilting out of place And the chair—the chair must had been antique and refurbished to Phasma’s liking, the wood backing of the chair the utmost comfortable. Perhaps the most uncomfortable chair in existence, feeling like tree just cut down for lumber. The chair alone must have been the reason teachers and students alike avoid the office and setting unnecessary meetings with the principal. “I thought there’d be a loophole to all of this if I decided to resign.”

“The root of the problem is not you working here, Miss Williams.” Phasma leaned forward, hands steepled under her chin. “Children and parents alike adore you.” Rey brightened, though Phasma’s stormy eyes told her to reign in any pleasure at the comment. “The root of the problem lies in the fact you accepted a student, whom happens to be your daughter, into the institution. You should _not_ have been on the committee reviewing student applications. It is highly suspicious.”

“Yes, because I _knew_ my long lost daughter would apply for the same institution I teach at,” Rey nodded heavy, sarcasm dripping over each word, “and I would feel the need to accept her. Because of nepotism.”

“That’s how some parents will see it,” Phasma hummed, “yes.”

“That’s bull.” Rey rolled her eyes. “I did not know Breha Solo was my biological daughter.”

“Anyone with eyes can see she is—”

“These are blind applications,” Rey reminded her. Reaching into her checkered canvas tote bag, she pulled out a blank application for Yavin Academy, waving it in front of the principal. “When presented to the committee, we do not see a student’s name or face—just their essays and portfolio. We know their names once they are accepted, never before hand. Tell me how that can be used against me?”

Phasma sighed, dropping her forehead into her palm. “You could have been in contact with her beforehand. Told her to do something to her work so you knew it was hers. Like a code—"

“I didn’t even know what she looked like until she stepped into my class on the first day!” Rey slapped the application on the desk.

“I believe you, Rey. I truly do,” the pinch in her brow told Rey there was more to just believing her, “but I am telling you what parents and other teachers will think. The fact you are living with the student—”

Rey scoffed, affronted by the fact more people knew about her life than she initially thought. “That’s my private life—”

“You know that doesn’t mean shit here,” Phasma was quick to cut off, “the fact the rumor has gone around and you just confirmed it, does not help. Rey, you don’t look good at _any_ angle in this situation.”

“I just…” She rubbed at her neck, tension bowing and pulling down on her. Sleep had become a long lost friend over the last few days. Wide awake, the humming heater and Ben’s faint snoring her companions in the night. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept soundly or dreamt. Thoughts of the looming trial and Breha’s potential expulsion whirled around her mind on repeat. She need to make sure her daughter would be okay in the end, to damn about her own career. “I just don’t want Breha to be kicked out. What can I do to make sure she stays—I don’t care about me. I can get another job elsewhere, but Breha? This her dream. And she’s talented and if there is any student who deserves to be here, it’s her.”

Across from her, Phasma snorted. Standing up, she shook her head and pushed away from desk, a shadow of shame and pity over her once poised features. “You sound like any parent who wants their child at this institution. _Of course_ your daughter is talented. _Of course_ this is her dream, but Rey I cannot guarantee she’ll have a spot here next semester.” She frowned down at Rey, like she was a childish for even entertaining the thought she could help her in any capacity. “I want you here, Rey. I want Breha to continue to attend and graduate from this school in three years’ time. I do. But that is not my decision, and you know that.” She motioned to the door behind Rey, not leaving much room for argument by the stern twitch of her brow. “Now if you’ll let me finish my lunch in peace, it’d be _much_ appreciated.”

Not needing to be told twice, Rey stood up, shrugging her tote bag over her shoulder. “Of course, Phasma.” However, with her hand on the doorknob, Rey paused. “I just have one question—"

“Yes, Rey?” came the woman’s terse yet resigned reply.

“If I resign—put in my two weeks’ notice in two weeks before the end of the semester, which would be also at least a week before the trial—will it make the trial null?”

Phasma’s mouth opened and closed. Stunned. Perhaps attempting to understand what exactly Rey was implying. “I suppose it _can—”_

Rey turned back around, sitting back down, prepared for a reckoning. Her mouth moved faster than what her mind could keep up with, knowing she needed to know the answer if it could fix the situation. Being peace to the impending chaos lurking in the next few weeks. “Because what is the point of having a trial if I am already resigning—planning on leaving at the end of the semester? Isn’t the point of the trial to remove me? To decide if I can keep my position here at the school?”

“Yes—technically. Strictly speaking.” Phasma stumbled over her words. “I—I don’t understand what you are saying—you’d have to turn in your two weeks’ notice in by the end of the day tomorrow to even attempt the possibility of nulling the trial—”

“Tomorrow?” Rey squeaked. “As in the day after today?”

“Yes,” Phasma stated once again, sounding like a broken record, “Tomorrow. If you want to attempt such an idea. Because if you do turn in a resignation before the trial, both the board and committee would need to reevaluate the situation because you and Breha would no longer offer a conflict of interest—”

“Perfect!” Rey shot up from the stiff chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. “Then I’ll have my two weeks’ notice prepared for you and on this desk,” she slapped the oak surface for good measure, “by the end of the day tomorrow!”

Phasma blanched, her ivory face becoming paler. “Excuse me? Don’t you maybe want to think this through, Miss Williams? Talk to your family—perhaps understand we’d need to find a replace for you next semester as soon as possible? That’d you’d be leaving a school year halfway through!”

“Phasma, if anyone can find an adequate replacement for me, it’s you,” Rey assured her, ambling over to the door, “and on thinking this through? This is the most sure I’ve felt about anything. It’s the right thing to do.”

And with that, Rey left her boss gobsmacked, hurrying off to her classroom to warm up her lunch and start her resignation letter.

* * *

“Knock-knock,” came a cheery voice from outside her door during her free period. A absentminded welcome rested on the tip of her lips, yet her visitor paid little mind to any response at all, swinging the door open with flourish. “How is my favorite art teacher?”

“Uh—” Rey’s bespectacled eyes snapped up to Finn, surprised to see her friend. She closed her tab with her resignation in haste, smiling up at him. Didn’t need more rumors to be spread around. “—a bit preoccupied, but never enough for you. How can I help you?”

Finn shut the door behind him, making his ‘I’m about to fail a student’s test’ face. She’d seen him grade enough times in the teacher’s lounge to recognize the saccharine closed smile and stench of desperateness rolling off of him. Her co-worker was a terrible people pleaser, to the point he somehow found himself on several of the school’s committees, supervisor of multiple after school programs and clubs, and of course, the weekly potluck.

She never understood what caused him to feel the need to bend over backwards for any person who decided to be friendly to him. Rey found she was rather quite the opposite, preferring to find a way to say ‘no’ to anything and everything.

There was more power in saying ‘no’ rather than ‘yes.’

“Just wanted to check in on ‘Rey’s World.’” He pulled up a chair from the nearest desk and sat down across from her. “See if you were okay…”

Rey closed her laptop slowly, not quite understanding what Finn was going on about. While they’d be work friends, checking in how the other was ‘doing’ had never been part of their relationship description. In fact, it was more along the lines where they complained about students and went out for the occasional drink with the rest of the teaching staff in their grade after finals.

They weren’t necessarily the most buddy-buddy of friendships around.

Resting her chin atop of her clasped hands, Rey raised a curious eyebrow at him.

Finn gulped.

Nice to know she remained terrifying to a degree.

“Uh, just wanted to see if you were okay. Lots of things around going around ya know—flu season on the horizon, rumors about you and student’s father, you possibly resigning—”

Her gut dropped, a queasiness rolling inside of her. “Phasma told _you_?”

“No—no!” It was not secret Finn harbored a massive fear towards the woman—he claimed it was due to their college days, the two attending the same university, she’d been an RA for his dormitories and was notorious for springing random health and safety checks when everyone least expected it. Story goes, Phasma without fail found a reason to write up Finn each week. “I may or may not have been waiting for my meeting with her to discuss a student’s failing math grade, and you two happened to be in the heat of discussion—”

“You eavesdropped?” She hated how hurt she sounded. Like a little girl whose secret had been spilled to the rest of the playground.

He winced. “Is it really eavesdropping when you are practically yelling in the office?”

“Yes, yes it is!” Rey dropped her face into her hands, groaning. “Does no one have the common decency to give privacy anymore?”

Finn cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his the neck, the classic picture of ‘awkward and uncomfortable.’ “I only came here to ask if you actually are doing okay—if you are thinking this through clearly? Because once you turn that in, there is no going back. And anyone can see you _love_ this job.”

Scrubbing her face behind her glasses, Rey lifted her head back up. “While I appreciate this…concern and intervention,” she waved towards him, “I am sure about my decision. I’m not thinking about myself in this—I—I have a family to think of.”

She never once called Ben and Breha her family but…there was no other way to describe them.

They were her family.

And she had to think of them when she made choices.

This was her thinking about them. Not herself.

It had to be.

“I suppose you do, but…” Finn’s face screwed up, an inner debate battling for dominance on his face. “Okay—I am not suppose to tell you this, but as friend and co-worker, I’d like to believe you’d do the same for me if I was ever in a bizarre position like this.” He shook his head, entire body uncomfortable and rattling with anxious energy. “Because this goes against everything I promised when I joined the committee and I know if anyone finds out I told you, then my head would be on a platter—”

“Okay, land the plane, Finn!” Rey hissed. “Get to it, your rambling is getting _me_ anxious.”

“It wasn’t a parent who asked for your removal. It was a donor.”

Ear piercing silence streamed through the classroom.

Rey opened her mouth, yet no words came out.

Because… _what the fuck_?

She never met any of the donors for Yavin Academy of the Arts. Most were older patrons who’s family members had attended the academy in the past or alums to the academy. They were usually hands off and were given complimentary tickets to all the showcases, performances, and events at the academy.

Donors, as far as Rey knew, did not have a say in anything pertaining to how the academy functioned and its employees.

Except, in this case, they apparently did.

“Usually we don’t take donor input because sometimes it is a grandparent or family friend who wants a current student to move up the totem poll, but we had to listen to this one. He’s been donating multiple thousands every year for the last four years to the academy. He’s the reason we were able to update the library and computer lab last semester.” Finn shrugged, helpless. “He’s not someone we can necessarily say ‘no’ to.”

Rey blinked, attempting to wrap her mind around the information Finn blurted out. “Then…then why did you present it as though it was a parent who had the problem? Or, or even have a trial?”

“Phasma denied him—took her some guts, but she did—claiming it is made clear they do not let donors have input on employment. Didn’t matter if his accusation was correct. That the institution likes to keep things clean. But…” he shook his head, dropping his voice lower, “… but then he somehow spread it out amongst other donors and influential parents.” He gave her a grim look. “I think you can piece the rest.”

“Thus trial.”

“Exactly.”

She checked her watch—they only had a few minutes left in their prep. “Can—can you tell me who it is?”

“Rey—”

“Please,” she pleaded, “I need to know. I need to know why this person wants me gone.”

Screwing his eyes shut, Finn inhaled deeply. “He donates under the name ‘Sidious.’ I think it sounds stupid but…”

Rey’s eyes clamped shut at the name.

Finn’s voice droned out as he continued to ramble on about the stupidity of the name and anonymous donorship.

Shakily she turned in her chair, grabbed the waste basket under her desk, and proceeded to vomit her entire lunch.

* * *

** R.K. Williams < rk.williams@holo.com > **

**Subject: (none)**

**_Meet me at Sundance Park at 4:30. Today._ **

****

**_Alone. None of your entourage._ **

****

**_Just me and you._ **

** S.Palpatine < sheev.palp@em-pire.com > **

**RE Subject: (none)**

****

**_Of course my dear._ **

****

**_Sheev Palpatine_ **

* * *

“I…need to take care of an errand,” Rey peeked at Breha, sitting in the passenger seat. The girl barely looked up from her phone, earbuds attached. “It’s pretty boring. Mostly just discussing numbers with a potential client.”

“Oh,” Breha muttered, the afternoon slump hitting her hard, “okay.”

Rey was coming up on downtown Yavin. A rather picturesque strip, old fashioned, the integrity of the original architecture from the 1950s maintained with careful refurbishment. Before Breha and Ben, she’d spend several weekend afternoons in downtown Yavin. Taking in the architecture, the gardens from Sundance Park, the cafes and shops lining down the street. She’d enjoy just sitting in her lonesome and people watch.

But that wasn’t what she’d be doing now.

Pulling into the first available space on the street, Rey parked her car. From the distance she spotted a familiar elderly man in a black coat waiting by Sundance Park entrance.

Damn him for being punctual.

She dug into her tote bag for her wallet, passing Breha a twenty. “I give you full permission to go into any coffee shop of your choosing, or ice cream shop, or wherever, and get what you want, only if you promise to get me something too.”

Breha snatched the twenty dollar bill happily. “No problem.”

“Keep your phone on you, and I’ll meet you back here in thirty, okay?”

“Sure,” Breha shrugged, already climbing out of the car. Give a teenager cash and freedom and they acted-liked they ruled the world and didn’t need adult supervision.

“And stay on this street!” Rey called out to her, grabbing her tote bag and keys on her way out. Watching Breha march down the street, a speedy skip to her step, Rey locked the car.

Once Breha disappeared into a smoothie café a few shops down, Rey began her dreaded trek to the park. Double checking the street for passing cars, she jogged across the road. Her sneaker clad feet collided with the smooth pavement of the sidewalk, she spotting _him_ a few paces away.

Short, wrinkly, white haired. His appearance remained the same; just as she remembered from when she was a little girl. The only difference was he moved slower and maybe gained more crows feet around his beady eyes.

Inhale. _Exhale_.

_Inhale_. Exhale.

She could breathe. She felt the thumping rhythm of her pulse—she’d be fine. They’d be out in public, in a frequented park in a busy downtown street—she’d be fine.

If anything happened, she’d just leave. Get up and go.

Go to Breha, pull her along, and get home. Get to Ben. Then they’d all be together, far away from _him_ , and everything would be okay.

That’s all she had to do if things went south. Which was a complete and plausible situation. Her grandfather was known for his occasional theatrics.

With a heavy heart and lightheaded, Rey urged her feet forward. One foot after the other.

Until she stood right before him, a good few feet away.

“Ah, there she is—thought you’d chicken out on the meeting.” Grandfather Palpatine’s nose wrinkled. “You even dress like one of them.”

“One of what?”

“An art teacher.”

Rey glanced down at her clothes—green Converses, midi overall skirt dancing around her shins, and a matching green cable knit sweater. Bright, colorful, and fun. She wasn’t going to let the impending winter dampen the mood; plus she thought it was cool to dress up in fun outfits for work. Call it putting on another skin, filled with smiles and jokey attitude.

“I don’t look like this all the time,” she defended weakly, shifting on her feet. “I just got off work.”

“Still.” Grandfather Palpatine shook his head, not sparing her another look.

Turning on his heel, he entered the park, not bothering to see if she’d be following. In his mind he probably didn’t second guess—she set the meeting, why wouldn’t she follow?

Yet her feet carried like dead weight.

Always four steps behind. Never too close. Out of an arm’s length.

He sat down at the first available bench.

Across the way children played on the jungle gym, their parents not far off. Just a few feet away to leap in action. Paying no mind to the young woman and the elderly man just few yards away.

Rey sat at the opposite end of the bench. Glancing over her shoulder, she could still see where she parked and a glimpse of the smoothie café. She could leave if she wanted to.

There were people around. She wasn’t alone.

Yet the crippling loneliness and age old tension of fear crawled out from the crevasse of her heart.

“Well,” Grandfather Palpatine began, “you called this little rendezvous. Why the sudden desire to reach out, Rachel?”

Hands clasped on her lap, she felt the inexplicable urge to sit straight and not fidget.

_Sit still, Rachel. Goddamn it. Manners, child. Exhibit manners._

“I…” A puff of air exhaled from deep within her, Rey struggling to find the words. She rehearsed what she say and how’s she say it, yet it all flew from her mind the moment she sat on that bench. All her motivation and confidence slipping away like a wisp of hair in the wind. “Uh—um—”

“Don’t stutter, Rachel. It is unbecoming.”

Her nails pinched into her skin, crescent marks indenting into the dry and calloused flesh.

“A little birdy told me you are a donor to Yavin Academy of the Arts.”

“It’s a nice tax write off,” he tutted, disgusted with himself. “I thought ‘why not give back to my ungrateful grandchild and her bastard daughter’?”

“Don’t talk about Breha like that,” Rey snapped, the pieces of her crumbling confidence lodged right back into place.

“Ah,” he spared her a knowing grin, “she does still have that bothersome fire under all that happy go lucky bullshit.”

Rey bristled, shoulders tensing. “You also happen to be the ‘anonymous donor’ who demanded I be removed from Yavin.”

Grandfather Palpatine remained unaffected by her accusation. “You have no business being there.”

“ _You_ have no business being there,” Rey echoed back, twisting to look at him. His knowing and smug smile met her with glee, unbothered by her obvious upset. “Yavin is my place of work. It is where my daughter attends school. You are the bastard who made my life a living hell. There was a reason I cut you off and ran away—it was you, you horrible, _horrid_ man.”

“Are you done now?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest in patient waiting. “Because a nearly thirty year old woman throwing a tantrum in the middle of a busy park is quite an embarrassment, Rachel.”

Her blood boiled to brim, but she reeled back down to a simmer. If she was going to make her point, she couldn’t play his game like a child. She couldn’t run, she couldn’t cry.

She needed to be Rey. Not _Rachel_.

“Why? Why do you want me fired?” She asked instead, turning to face him fully. “We haven’t spoken face to face in fifteen years. Why the sudden desire, as you so put?”

His jaw twitched, Grandfather Palpatine’s eyes dimming for a fraction of a second. A flash of a lonely, empty man. One seeking power-one seeking revenge-one seeking belonging. All because he was one man alone in a world where no one loved him and where he did not bother to love anyone in return.

Then the flame of superiority ignited in tenfold.

“I’ve been looking in legal action,” he stated, mechanical and terse, “Breha should have never been put for adoption.”

“It was my choice and I have my reasons,” Rey stated, not once wavering.

“No, it was not,” Palpatine said with an air of correction, “you were barely fifteen, still a minor. In most states, including Arizona where we’d been living at the time—”

“We were already in San Diego—"

“I still had the address in Arizona,” he waved off, “point of the matter is you did not have the right to put Breha for adoption without the consent of your guardian. Which was _me_.” A breeze rattled through, Palpatine hugging his coat closer. “If I want to, I can make a case. Claim you were too young to make a sound decision, acted without my consent, and make Ben Solo’s adoption of Breha null and void.”

“You wouldn’t,” she felt her gut fall, queasiness wearing down on her, “Breha is Ben’s life. And there is very little grounds for a case. Yes, I was fifteen but plenty of fifteen year old’s end up pregnant and have their child for adoption. Plus, he had raised her from the moment she was born—she _is_ Ben’s daughter. He is the only parent she has ever known.”

“I understand,” Palpatine tutted, “I understand him far greater than you do. Raising a girl alone is a beast in itself. It is a constant question on whether or not you are enough.”

“Don’t start with a pity party.” Rey swallowed tightly, unable to fathom the thought of Breha and Ben separated from each other. “You of all people do not deserve pity.”

“There is also the matter of Solo not having the cleanest psychiatric evaluation.”

Her inner chaos of emotions hit the brakes. “Excuse me?”

“I believe your dear old Granddad Kenobi turned the other cheek. Old friend of the Skywalkers and whatnot, wanted to keep Breha ‘in the family’,” he rolled his eyes at the term, never fond of the family as far as Rey was aware, “but Solo never should have been approved.”

“He went to therapy,” Rey stated, prepared to defend Ben, “that does not cause a red flag in a psychiatric evaluation. Therapy is normal and it was when he was in his teens.”

Grandfather Palpatine’s eyes narrowed. “No…he went psychiatric institution for depression, Rachel. He tried to hurt himself. Detrimentally.”

* * *

Ben never talked about his mental health issues.

But Rey knew they existed. She wasn’t oblivious.

When he’d force a smile that never reached his eyes. The days he’d choose to be alone, just needing space, never elaborating. Nights where he struggled to sleep. The restlessness and irritability. His short-temper, snapping the moment he felt threatened or emotionally cornered. The sluggishness he’d try to hide away for Breha’s sake.

They shared the ensuite bathroom. She’d seen the pill bottles in the medicine cabinet. Antidepressants. An absurd amount of vitamins—B, D, 5-HTP, Omega 3.

A small picture of a young Breha, no older than three, smiling all cheesy was taped to the inside of the cabinet. Right beside the line of bottles.

The girl was his life. She was the reason he tried his best.

* * *

“I know.” Rey lied. Her face remained neutral, not letting him see through her emerging cracks. “I just respect my boyfriend and don’t like airing his personal medical information out in public.”

If Grandfather Palpatine was surprised by her response, he didn’t show it.

“She shouldn’t be in his care.”

“And you shouldn’t be digging up a fifteen year old grave,” Rey shot back. “I get it. You hate me—”

“I don’t hate you—”

“You hate me because I never became what you wanted. I could never match your vision for me. I was supposed to be your plaything—the doll you could dress up, bring out for visitors and speak of with pride, and then shove me away. Back into my room, my own little prison. I could never be the girl you wanted because you never wanted me for me in the first place. I never belonged in your narrative—I never fit in because you never wanted me to.”

On the other side of the bench, Palpatine fell still, calculated eyes no long stuck to her, but on the children playing on the jungle gym.

“If I could not have my son, at least I could have you,” he said, the words caught in the wind.

But Rey heard him, voice clear and empty.

“You fucked me up.”

“I’m aware.”

“And you are just-just _okay_ with that?” Rey stuttered out, not understanding why Palpatine was not seeing the point. He crushed her soul when she was barely learning how to grow in her own. He damaged her to the point she felt she had no other option, but to run when hating herself had little success.

“I’m dying, Rachel,” Grandfather Palpatine told her.

“Good,” she blurted out, brutal and honest. “You should.”

“A tumor on the base of my neck. They say less than a month.” He glanced over at her, blue eyes shining with fearful tears. Death apparently scared him, like any average mortal. “That is why I’ve been trying to contact you. I have assets that need to be taken care of.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” she told him point blank.

Once upon a time, when she was only eating instant ramen, working two jobs, attending university and painting because her life depended on it, she might have caved. Took whatever he offered because she wasn’t she if she could survive. She could lie her way through a phone call with Granddad Kenobi, tell him she was fine and he didn’t need to help her. But if she saw Grandfather Palpatine, she would have crumpled, came back because everything he ever said would have been true. Down to worthlessness and starvation.

But she was different now. She could be herself and not the paper mâché shell of a girl she crafted with shaky hands all those years ago.

“I am a self-made woman. I don’t need anything from anyone.” Her voice cracked under the weight of truth. A truth she refused to acknowledge from all the hurt of her youth. “I’m _enough_ on my own.”

And she believed it.

“I have assets,” he repeated. Rey’s words ignored, her confrontation ignored. “I need to leave them to someone. Need to keep the Palpatine name alive in some way, even if not by name, but a least by blood and legacy.”

Then it hit her.

Despite telling him how she felt, releasing all the pent up hurt and resentment, she would always be nothing to him.

Just a vessel.

A piece of furniture to slap a name on.

A means to an end.

A nobody he claimed for the sake of claiming.

“I have paid off properties,” he continued, “your trust fund, still sitting there untouched. I made one for Breha as well a few years back. My accolades and belongings need a home, to be preserved. I need them all to go somewhere. Breha is my only option. The fact you ignore me…” he shook his head, “you are still a child who needs to be punished for their actions.”

“And getting me fired is your form of punishment?”

“Precisely.” He shrugged. “The damage is already done. You won’t have a job if you agree or don’t agree to the changes in my will.”

“You’re a fucking bastard.” Logic hit her like a ton of bricks. “You do realize you don’t need to consult with me—the grandchild who puts a disgrace to your name—to change your will. None of that is legally required.”

He grinned sardonically. “But where is the fun in that, Rachel?” He hugged himself tighter as another gust of wind barreled through. “Thought I deserved a decent farewell tour. Meet my great-grandchild.” His eyes found her. “See what you became.”

“Disappointed?” she could not help but ask.

“Tremendously.”

“Pity.”

Rey stood from the bench.

She turned to him, standing taller and wiser.

“You know what? Put me on your will!” She declared to heavens, arms thrown out. “ _Do it_. I dare you. Put Breha too, if you want,” she added smugly, unable to help the giddy grin from pulling on her lips. Because this—this is what freedom felt like. Looking down at the man who earned way too much real estate in her psyche. To know he no longer held her in his grip—he was nothing to her. Just a fragment of a lonely, bitter man. “But I’ll just tell her how you treated me, how you wanted to tear me down from the beginning. Make me something I’m not. And you know what we’ll do?” She stepped closed, leaning towards the frail man. He looked smaller than he ever had before. How she never noticed, she’ll never know. “We’ll destroy those houses you have paid off. We’ll donate all your savings and money to charity. Arts programs, in fact. The ones you despised so much,” she chuckled, proud of herself, “and that trust fund money? I have no doubt in my mind Breha will get into a phenomenal university, majoring in whatever her heart desires, and it will go towards _her_ dreams. Not mine, not Ben’s, _hers_. And that will be the sweetest revenge on _you_ , you asshole!”

Without looking back, she walked away.

She walked out of park, adrenaline pulsating in a frenzy.

“Fuck yeah,” she exhaled, an exhilarated smile blooming from her

Looking both ways, she crossed the street. Sneakers pounded on the pavement as she made it across, she near skipping as she made it to the smoothie café.

Her feet stopped.

Rey looked through the store front window, her heart rejoicing and clenching in off-beat, battling dance.

Sitting inside, Breha sat alone at a table. Unaware, earbuds in place and book cracked open in front of her. Her red hair was pulled into a messy bun, wisps falling in a lazy mess. Her smoothie was halfway gone, she sipping it absentmindedly as she flipped another page.

Another smoothie, a berry colored one, sat untouched. Waiting for Rey.

All the energy in Rey leveled out with an inhale and an exhale.

She stepped into the café and sat with Breha.

“Oh, hey,” the girl muttered, “I got you this. I remember you ranting to dad that he needed more berries on the grocery list. So I figure you’d like this, it’s some raspberry-blueberry thing. The guy at the register told me most berry lovers like it.”

Rey pulled the drink closer to her, stabbing into it with the available straw. Taking a sip, she nodded in approval. “It’s perfect Breha. This is perfect.”

And it was.

* * *

“I just laid it all out for him,” Rey told Ben later that night, the two laying side by side in the dark, “told him he was a bastard and an asshole. Told him he fucked me up and he,” she shook her head, burrowing deeper into the pillow, “he didn’t care.”

“Of course he didn’t.” Ben tucked away a loose hair from her face. His thumb lingered by her temple, brushing lightly before resting his arm comfortably around her. “People like that don’t care about anyone else but themselves. There is nothing you can do to fix them; you can only take care of yourself. But I’m glad you confronted him, and in a safe environment. Not, you know, at your house or here. Or at the school.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, “it was…liberating. Like a perpetual weight had finally been lifted off my shoulders. I never…I never thought I could feel like that.”

“But you do,” he mumbled, voice rumbling low, “you did it. I’m proud of you. I really am.” His drowsy honey-brown eyes roved her face, a happy smile—a genuine happy smile—on his lips. “I love you.”

A fluttering commenced in her chest, the casual use of the phrase ‘I love you’ doing something to her on a level she never once considered. As though it were meant to be said that way, soft and in the dark, by someone who meant it with out hesitation.

She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. No heat, no pressure. Light, sleepy, and content.

“I…”

“I know,” he told her, no pain or remorse. He did know. She never had to say it because he knew; a relief to both.

She realized she had to tell him.

Love required transparency.

Rey knew he was the only one who’d tell her the truth, tell her if she made the right choice. Support her if it made sense, if he believed in her.

“Would…would you still love me,” she began, resting a hand on his chest; feeling him under her finger tips kept her grounded, “if I told you I’m planning on resigning from Yavin?”

The sleepiness in his eyes vanished. “ _What_?” He sat up, she following him up. He reached for his glasses on the bedside table, Rey finding herself doing the same

“Ben,” air was caught in her throat, but she pushed through, “I need to resign. To protect Breha.”

She told him _everything_.

The trial. Palpatine’s involvement. How she felt about their families. The job offer.

Words would not stop coming out. The flood gates had been opened and there was not shutting them off.

And Ben…

He sat.  
  


He listened.

He didn’t interrupt even though he looked like he was about to leap out of bed and shout to the ceiling more than once. He grunt and grumbled instead, low enough to not disturb her train of thought and speech.

He chewed his lips together, remaining silent as words undoubtedly struggled to be at bay. Squeezed the life out of his stress ball. His hair became the messiest shit she had ever seen in her entire life, massive hands running through his dark hair like a never ending river.

At one point he paced the length of the room, stopping in the furthest corner and just sat on the floor, leaning against the wall for support.

That was how Rey found herself sitting on the carpet, across from him. Legs tucked under her chin.

“…and maybe that is for the best. Taking this job, getting away from all the chaos with Palpatine and to let Breha complete the rest of the school year in peace…”

“I’m sensing a ‘but,’” Ben said, speaking up for the first time in…in possibly hours. His head lulled towards her, one leg tucked close with the other laid out in front of him. “You can say it—you can say everything else.”

“But—” Rey wiped her nose, warding off tears. However, they never listened. Tears came as thief in the night, already free falling down her face. “—I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave you and Breha.”

“Then don’t,” came his simple reply. “Don’t leave. Just because you turn in a resignation—which I understand and support,” he made sure to clarify, “doesn’t mean you automatically accept this other job. They haven’t even made an offer, Rey.”

“But what if they do?” she asked, small and afraid of what could happen. “What then?”

“Then we cross that bridge when we get there,” he answered, sounding far more confident than she felt at the moment, “and we’ll decided together.” He scooted forward until he was beside her. Warm, secure arms wrapped around her, Ben pulling her in close. Pulled her back to where she belonged; beside him. “You still need to submit a cover letter, your official resume for the position at Jedah. Just submit those and we’ll wait. None of that needs to be set in stone right now.”

She scrubbed at her face, salty tears smeared and absorbed into her palms. “You’re right. You are absolutely right—I’m just…just so overwhelmed.” She peered up at him, resting her head against his shoulder. His eyes met her, gentle yet dark, intaking the information she spilled like a waterfall. “But talking to you about it all helped. A lot. Truly.” She chuckled once, hugging his arms closer to her. “When did you get wise? Last time I checked words were not really your forte.”

He huffed, giving her a teasing smile. “I…may…have had a therapy session a couple of days ago. And we talked about my anger— _again_.” He rolled his eyes, but there was some regret underlying the age old motion. “So I took my homework seriously—listen instead of reacting when it comes to stuff like…this.”

“Well, I think you did an amazing job.” She patted his arm before reaching up to press a kiss under his jaw. He leaned unto her touch. “Maybe I should look into therapy if these are the results,” she joked lightly.

“Maybe you should.” There was not an once of humor in the statement. “Not tomorrow, or next week, or anything. But…maybe you should consider it because I hate seeing you this helpless. I can only do so much, sweetheart.”

“Maybe I will.” Rey found herself saying the truth.

“And to answer your question,” Ben pulled away from her, tender honey brown eyes matching her hazel gaze evenly “I do still love you. After all that. I might not like you some days, but loving you goes without question.”

“I can say the same.” Her eyes caught the alarm clock on the beside table. “Shit—it’s late. Can we just fall asleep here, on the floor?” she bemoaned.

“As enticing as that sounds,” Ben released her from his hold, a bone popping somewhere along the way, “I’d rather not see a chiropractor any time in the near future.”

She snorted, standing up from the floor. Offering her hand to him, she helped him get back up. “Come on old man, lets go to bed. I need to wake up early and finish a resignation paper tomorrow.”

Without arguing, Ben followed her to bed, wrapping up in her warmth.

* * *

**Wednesday, the Day Of**

“Are you positive?” Phasma peeked up from the freshly printed resignation letter. “This is what you’d like to do Miss Williams?”

“Yes,” Rey nodded once, the rush of students in the hall caused the women’s voice to drop low. The school day had just ended, Thanksgiving Break on everyone’s mind. No one paid attention to a beloved art teacher and the principal speaking just outside her classroom. “Thank you for coming to pick it up. I know a physical copy is preferred considering the trial and all.”

“Yes, yes it is.” Phasma folded the letter in half, tucking it into her inner blazer pocket. She stuck a hand out to Rey. “Miss Williams, it has been an honor having you at this institution and I am terribly sorry for how this has ended.”

Rey accepted her hand, shaking firm and sure. “I adored every minute here.” Her eyes scanned the hall. Students’ giggling, chatting, walking towards the exit. “I have a couple of weeks left. I’ll enjoy them and have my grades turned in on time, as usual.”

“Perfect.” Phasma nodded once more. “Have a pleasant Thanksgiving, Miss Williams.”

Rey’s boss left, resignation tucked away. All was said and done; no turning back.

Calling Breha over, Rey grabbed her tote bag and locked up her classroom for one of the last few times.

* * *

Breha was technically never supposed to see anything. She had her own laptop, never needing to use Ben or Rey's.

However, it was a hand-me-down laptop with a habit of going on the fritz whenever it so well desired.

“Ugh—” Breha groaned from her bed room, “—this stupid thing!”

“What happened?” Rey called out from the living room. BB sat with her, his head resting on her thigh as she worked on grading art journals. Each student was given a journal to mark their progress, write what they felt were their strength and weakness with each assignment.

She read each and every one. A blessing and curse—some kids took the journals seriously while others…not so much. She had to give one of her best artists a ‘D’ on their journal because they wrote a single sentence on their personal evaluation.

“My laptop froze!”

“Again?” Rey shared a concerned glance with BB. That was the fourth time that week.

“Yes!” Footsteps came hurrying down the hall, Breha huffing into the living room moments later. “And usually I’d use Dad’s laptop but he went straight to the grocery store after work.”

As a first for the little family, they’d be celebrating three separate Thanksgivings. One with Nana Leia, Papa Han, and family, then with Granddad Kenobi, and then their own little dinner with just Rey, Ben, and Breha. Ben volunteered to do the shopping when he got off work while Rey and Breha handled dinner. Dinner being three large pizzas due for delivery in the next half hour.

Rey looked over to her tote bag, her laptop peeking out from the mess. “You can use mine. The passcode is ‘1213’.”

“Really?” Breha perked up.

“Yes,” Rey waved to it, urging her along, “just don’t do anything crazy with it.”

The girl shot off, picking up the laptop and charging cable. “Thank you so much, Mom!”

Rey’s heart stopped.

But Breha dashed out, her slip of the tongue unnoticed by herself.

Breha called her…Mom.

Her daughter called her ‘Mom.’

That had never happened before.

She never thought it would.

Yet…

“Did you hear that, BB?” Rey blinked down at her pup, eyes watering. “She called me, ‘Mom’.”

A small giggle escaped her, Rey feeling a strange sense of bliss consume her.

She was Mom to Breha.

Or something like a mother.

Rey was fine with whichever it happened to be.

However said bliss was short-lived, Breha charging back into the living room minutes later—

“What the hell?” Breha shoved the laptop in Rey’s face. “Why is there a resignation letter open on your laptop? And dated as of yesterday!”

Rey shot up from the couch, reaching for her laptop. “Breha—"

The girl skirted away, carrying the laptop away with her. The two circled around the coffee table, Rey feeling less in control of the moment the more Breha’s face crumpled into a stubborn, watery glare. “No! What is this? Why are you resigning?”

Rey felt panic bubble inside her chest; she never handled Breha like this—this panicked induced form. It was like she possessed an extraordinary concoction of both her and Ben’s anxieties.

“I—I’m getting a job elsewhere.”

_“You’re leaving?”_

The words broke her heart, the hurt smeared on Breha’s face. Hazel eyes shattering in pain and betrayal, reflecting a younger version of Rey—one she never wanted to see thrown back in her face.

“I don’t know,” Rey confessed. “But I got an unofficial offer. With Jedah University.”

“So…” The fourteen year old set the laptop down on the coffee table, eyes downcast. “You’d just get up and go? Leave us like we meant nothing?”

“No!” Rey reached for Breha. The girl shifted away, hurt morphing into a steady glare. “No, of course not. You’re father and I have been discussing—”

“Dad knows and he’s _okay_ with it?” came Breha’s cry. She shook her head, tears waiting to be released at the rim of her eyelids. “That doesn’t make sense!”

“Breha, I don’t even know if I got it or if I’m going to take it! It’s just an option right now—”

“You love your job at Yavin!” Breha waved to all the notebooks stacked on the coffee table, each marked with thoughtful notes from Rey. “You are the most dedicated teacher ever! Spend all your time helping your students, making them the best they can be! You leaving doesn’t make any sense! _Why_?”

“Breha—”

“ _Why_? Why would someone do that to themselves?” Breha hugged herself, shifting away each time Rey tried to get close. Shunning away. “I love you being my teacher! What about all your students? What are they going to think when your replacement shows up? _It’s not fair, Mom—it’s not_!”

The slip of the tongue caused a different reaction this time.

It caused painful rage.

“You think I don’t know that!” Rey scoffed, her voice trembling with tears. Breha just churred up all the fears and pain Rey tried to tuck neatly away. To be thought out once the semester was over and she could grieve in her own time. “I know my students will be hurt. I know I love this job—it is one my favorite things in the world! But I have to do this to help you. I am doing all of this for _you_ , Breha!”

“You are not making any sense—”

“ _I was going to be fired because of you, Breha!”_

The girl fell silent, tear stained eyes wide. “…what?”

“I love my job. I do,” Rey stated, chest heaving, “it is one of the best things that has ever happened it me! But people think the wrong thing, considering I’m your mother and your my daughter and you could have got in by nepotism.”

“But I didn’t!”

“I know that!” Rey ran her hands through her hair. “But just because we know that doesn’t mean they understand,” she shook her head, dropping her forehead into her palm, “fuck—I know, Breha. I know how all the students will feel and it eats me up, damn it!”

“But—but isn’t there something we can do—”

“No,” Rey cut her off, not going to tempt any hopeful outcome. She already weighted all her options. “Me resigning today was my only option to protect all our asses.”

Breha just couldn’t let the matter die. Always digging her nose in too deep, wanting to know the truth. To find the solution to the problem. “But there has to be—”

“No Breha! _There isn’t_! Unless you can go back in time and stop us from ever meeting, you never getting back into my life—then that— _that right there_ —would solve all of our problems!”

The words flew out of her mouth before she could even think them through.

Breha gasped, backing out of the room. Tear streamed down her face with no sign of stopping. “I’m sorry I ruined your fucking life.”

“No,” Rey uttered, horror shuddering into her bones. She chased after her, wanting to fix this— _needing_ to fix this. “Breha, I didn’t mean—”

The bedroom door slammed in Rey’s face.

Rey jiggled the door knob.

Locked.  
  


So she knocked. And knocked. And knocked. Knocked until her knuckles grew sore.

“Breha—Breha, sweetheart! Please—I—I didn’t mean it like that— _please_!”

No response.

Standing outside Breha’s door, Rey realize she’d have accept the shit show she and Breha caused and bring in good ‘ole dad to solve the problem when he came home.

“Hey—I need help with the groceries!” Ben called out as he entered the house moments later. She heard him set the bag down in the kitchen, footsteps coming closer. “Rey! Breha! Come on—I know you two ordered pizza and didn’t make dinner. I got the alert from my bank account on my phone. Hello! Where are you—" He stopped short when he saw Rey stubbornly knocking on Breha’s door. “What happened?”

“Breha and I had a…” Rey groaned; who was she kidding? Ben would see right through any attempt of a lie. “Breha found out,” she admitted, dejected and waiting for a reprimanding. “She knows I resigned. Found the doc on my computer and she let me have it.”

Ben sighed, agitated. They had a plan and this went and shitted on it because Breha was Breha and Rey was too lazy to close her documents on her laptop. They were both at fault.

Wiping his jaw, he nodded. “Okay. And let me guess, words were said?”

“Yes,” Rey replied, terse. She knocked her head against the door. “A lot of terrible words. And she locked herself in and I cannot get this damn thing open.” She whined into the wood, praying Breha would hear her pitiful confession to Ben and just open the door.

He nodded, jaw tense. Reaching up to the doorframe, Ben retrieved a small key. “For future reference, the key to her bedroom is above the door.”

“Not your first rodeo with a locked door and stubborn girl, eh?” she tried to joke.

Ben humored her with a forced smile. “Hell no.”

Jamming the key in, he unlocked the door. Twisting the knob, he pushed Breha’s bedroom door open.

Rey braced herself for an angry outburst, or a crying mess of a girl…

Except there was neither.

In fact, the room was empty. Just an open window, the November wind sweeping through the space.

Breha was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well....that was a chapter.
> 
> I mean at this point who REALLY thought the real love story in this fic is between Rey and Ben? It has EVERYTHING to do with Rey and Breha and Ben and Breha. She is the epicenter of their lives.
> 
> Please tell me what you think in the comments. Freak out. Let me know how you felt about Rey's decisions. The surprise helping hand from Finn--HE WASNT INTRODUCED FOR NO REASON. How she handled Palpatine. How she handled Breha. Ben's reactions. The fact Ben kept a little detail of his past!!!
> 
> Next chapter is special. An all Ben POV chapter! :D


	17. A Father's Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeyyyyy.
> 
> Long time no see.
> 
> Our world is kind of a weird place now, and I sort of needed a break from this fic to gather my thoughts as we are in the beginning of the end with this fic, but now I am back!
> 
> Consider this chapter a Father's Day gift to one Ben Solo!
> 
> Typos will be fixed later! Enjoy :D

* * *

Ben would like to say he was a natural at the parent thing. That the moment Breha was placed in his arms, a fatherly intuition would kick in. That he’d know how to calm her, hold her, look into her big-bright hazel eyes and tell her all would be okay and _it would be_.

He would like to say he didn’t need help. Or that he survived the first year with baby Breha on his own, and didn’t need to call his parents. Or anyone really.

Ben Solo would like to say he was the best father Breha deserved that first year. Mostly to prove the naysayers wrong. If he wanted to get into specifics, mostly to prove his mother, his father, his uncle, and ex-fiancée wrong.

However, saying such would have been a massive lie.

“ _Breha, you need to calm the fuck down!”_

The infant’s cries continued at the same obscene level and pitch, her tiny lungs far more powerful than he ever gave credit.

“Are you shitting me, kiddo?” Ben bemoaned, as he struggled to knot his navy blue tie properly. “I really need you—” he reached one hand into the crib and popped the pacifier into her mouth. “—to—” She spat it out less than a second later. “—be good and quiet Breha Bear.” He placed the pacifier back in her mouth without missing a beat.

Yet she spat it out again.

_And again._

And again, spitting the damn little silicone nozzle out each and every time it was placed into her mouth like it was some sort of sick game she was playing.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Pacifier _in_ the mouth. Pacifier _out_ of the mouth.

In and Out. In and Out.

(It should be noted this is not the first time Ben and his daughter had ‘The Battle of the Pacifier’—or ‘The Battle of the Chupy’ as his mother liked to call it.

_“No one calls a pacifier a ‘pacifier,’ Ben. That is just too many syllables.”_

_“Yet it is socially acceptable for a grown man or woman to call a pacifier a_ ‘chupy’ _?”_

_“You must realize as a parent of an infant the term ‘socially acceptable’ flies out the window. You will do some gross shit and absurd antics for your child to get them to shut up for two seconds.”_

His mother believed Breha simply did not like pacifiers. Ben did not like to believe such a horrifying theory.

“ _You have to think, Breha was never on breastmilk_.”

_“But she has a bottle. She must know in her little brain that the plastic nipple equals food, right?”_

_“You didn’t like pacifiers, and I never breastfed you. Couldn’t because of my migraine medication. Maybe in her head you are tricking her with a plastic nipple that doesn’t give her food. Have you thought of that?”_

If Breha didn’t like pacifiers, then Ben was doomed.)

His words flying in one ear and out the other. She wiggled in her crib, little arms flailing and kicking in the air with little direction or reason.

Only five months old. She was only five months old.

He constantly had to remind himself of that one little fact.

Breha had no awareness of the world, or what was happening around her.

All she knew was her daddy was moving around the apartment, getting ready for work, and he wasn’t holding her. And that made the five month old upset—nay, _angry_.

To further prove his theory, Breha tossed her pacifier out of the crib. The little lifesaver darted through the air and into dark corner of the room, somewhere between Ben’s bed and nightstand. He wasn’t too bothered to pinpoint where exactly the pacifier bounced off to as Breha’s cries rose an octave higher.

“Breha, Breha please,” he groaned, dropping his head against the crib railing. Prior to Breha’s arrival, he read all the parenting books he could get his hands on and knew he shouldn’t pick up his daughter, no matter how hard she cried. She had to learn how to self-soothing and he need to learn how to grow thick skin and let her cry it out.

Except he wasn’t doing great on his end.

Nine times out of ten, Ben found himself picking up Breha after her failed minute of self-soothing. The longest he got away without caving was around seven minutes. A remarkable feat for him despite his mother’s less than pleased response to the news.

_(“She will never learn if you baby her forever.”_

_“Mom, she’s a literal baby. I have to baby her. I don’t have a choice.”_

_“You’ll say the same thing when she is fourteen. She’ll always be a baby in your eyes. Better to not let her wrap too tight around your finger now, or else you’ll be in trouble one day.”_

_“Like you could speak from experience.”)_

Ben broke in three minutes.

Tie limp around his neck and forgotten, he reached into the crib for his daughter. Breha’s cries morphed into snotty whimpers the moment Ben held her, the pomp and circumstance of her sobbing vanishing as seconds passed, yet the whimpering and sniffling continued.

Sighing, Ben bounced in place, slowly singing the only song that would soothe Breha.

“Coming out of my cage, and I’ve been doing just fine,” he began, more of half mutter than full-on singing, “gotta gotta be down, because I want it all…”

By the time Ben reached the second verse, he was sobbing on the floor, holding a sleeping Breha who was none the wiser.

* * *

After his little serenade to Breha (who fell asleep almost instantaneously, the little manipulative monkey) Ben called in sick.

He felt guilty about leaving her in the hands of his godmother after his little display. Amilyn loved spending days with her, spoiling Breha with affection like she was her own grandchild. She worked mostly from home, except for the occasional excursion to the art gallery she ran. She had the time and wanted to help, and wouldn’t be passive aggressive on how exactly he should be raising Breha, unlike his mother.

Leia Organa always had an opinion she wanted to share and spoke blunt like a sledgehammer, while Amilyn Holdo always had an opinion she withheld until she could slip it in with precision and tact like a skilled assassin. Opposites in methods, yet both brutally honest and caring in similar ways. How the women were longtime friends for decades, Ben would never know.

However, everyday when he dropped Breha off with Amilyn, a piece of Ben withered.

He was supposed to be there for her. He was supposed to care for her, and sing her Mr. Brightside to calm her down. Not his godmother.

He’d been working longer hours and spending six days out of the week in the office. His Breha time dwindled, and she was only _five months old_.

Ben knew he couldn’t be like this forever. He’d have to change his schedule, figure out if he could work from home for part of week. Do more than hold her in the evenings and hope she’d fall asleep so he could get a decent sleep.

His childhood was spent being bounced around from family members, to babysitters, to nannies, his parents never in the picture long enough for Ben to commit early life moments to memory. He didn’t want his daughter to grow up thinking she was an inconvenience, shipping her off to spend the day with babysitters and whatnot, believing her father didn’t want to spend time with her.

Ideally, he’d probably give up everything to be with Breha all the time, sans crying of course. Be a stay-at-home dad, or maybe part time. That is, if he had a partner.

Being the main caregiver for their—his—daughter was the plan he originally proposed to Katherine. He’d drop his hours at the firm; he’d be the one to do all the ‘mommy and me’ activities; in fact, he was still waitlisted for three classes. He’d be as his father so adequately put, ‘Mr. Mom.’

And Ben would have been happy with that. Ecstatic if he was being perfectly honest.

But instead he was doing this alone and maybe he was in over his head, swimming in a sea of guilt, and didn’t know how to stop feeling like he was the biggest failure on the face of the planet.

Hell, he felt stupid for feeling like a failure. Taking care of baby shouldn’t be _too_ difficult; idiots with less sense than him popped babies out and cared for them all the time, yet he was floundering.

He felt he was doing everything wrong all the time and pretty much everyone agreed with his assessment. No encouragement or, “Hey Ben, you are actually doing okay” from anyone. Not his mother, not his father, not his uncle. Not even Amilyn, who’d only give him a pity smile when she noticed his exhaustion.

It was as though they all expect him to fail, and completely fuck up a child’s life.

“This is nice right?”

In her stroller, Breha gurgled up at him. Smiling, her chubby cheeks dimpling, she stared up at him like he was her world.

He chest sank, yet his stomach lurched.

How could one innocent smile bring an unbearable weight of pressure?

She gurgled again, reaching for her sock clad foot. Her floppy hat drooped in her face, her button nose wrinkling at the obstruction.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, we are having a nice time. ” He took most of Breha’s nonsense gurgles as ‘yes’s and never ‘no’s.

They’d walked a couple of laps around the local park, one Ben never bothered to visit in the past, but found to be a hidden gem in the city of Yavin. Greenery and tall trees along with a few paths and pond located towards the center of the park, the place gave a quaint ambiance, one he had not felt since moving to Yavin several years previous.

The ducks lingering around the pond were a plus. Breha spiraled into giggle fits every time they passed the quaking birds, all too amused by their flapping by the water. He pulled them to a stop by the pong railing, under a shady tree.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” He took most of Breha’s nonsense gurgles as ‘yes’s and never ‘no’s.

“You know I am trying, right?” Ben asked her, leaning over into the stroller. He righted her hat, pushing the front flop back. Her bright hazel eyes blinked up at him in wonder, her tiny lips smacking and mouthing the air, as though she were replying to him. “I know I’m not the best daddy in the world, but I am trying. You are the best little thing to happen to me and I need you to know that, alright Breha Bear? You make daddy’s heart smile, and daddy’s heart has never smiled the way it does when I’m with you. You got that?”

In the distance a duck squawked.

Breha fell into a fit of giggles, unaware of what Ben said.

She was only five months old.

Only five months old.

The ducks made her laugh and she did not care for her father’s existential crisis in the middle of the park by the pond in the middle of a breeze May afternoon.

And that was okay. Five month olds did not need to be worried or concerned about their daddy’s wellbeing. They just need their daddy’s to be there and love them with all their heart.

Ben can do that. He can do that without failing.

But that did not mean he was enough.

* * *

Ben spoke before Old Benjamin Kenobi could say anything else.

“I think you made a mistake.”

The carrier felt heavier in his hand. The sun felt more sweltering than it did moments ago. The pressure to be enough was too much. He couldn’t let sweetest, adorable baby girl he had the privilege to call his daughter not have the best.

Ben just wasn’t cut out to do the parenting thing on his own; it took five months to realize it, but he did. He wasn’t enough.

He was positive he’d never be.

“Oh,” the older man blinked at him, adjusting his glasses higher on his nose, “I wasn’t aware I made mistakes.”

The joke landed flat; Ben’s frown deepened.

“I usually don’t take house calls,” Old Ben began, yet he opened his front door wider, “but I think for you Benjamin, I’ll make the exception. I have some tea on the stove, why don’t you pop in?”

Upon stepping into the house, Ben was greeted with the smell of cinnamon and peanut butter, comfort flooding his senses. Memories of sitting down for tea with Old Ben, eating all of his peanut butter and chocolate cookies were brought to the forefront of his mind. Old Ben sneaking him a couple more cookie at the end of tea without Leia noticing. Playing a game of hide-and-seek for one in the upstairs rooms, hoping maybe his mother would spare some time to try to find him rather than call out his name, ordering him to come down so they could leave. Or perhaps hide in hope his mother would give up calling for him or looking for him and just leave, let him stay at Old Ben’s house forever.

But that never happened. Ben didn’t like when his mother got flustered, so he listened and came down when she called for him. Like the good son she wanted him to be, but struggle to be.

He followed Old Ben further into the house, until they reached the kitchen table.

A plate of peanut butter and chocolate shortbread cookies sat in the center of the circular table, as though waiting for him all this time.

Ben gently sat down the carrier beside his feet and took a seat.

“You still like your tea the same? Three sugars and milky?”

His brain stuttered at the question, stunned his namesake would remember how he liked his tea. It’d been years since he sat across the man, dragged along for the obligatory meeting his mother had with the old family friend.

“Yes,” Ben answered, “I still take it that way.”

The tea cup was set before him moments later, a delicate blue and pink floral pattern along the smooth porcelain. Hand-painted.

“My granddaughter painted the design on that one,” Old Ben said, noticing Ben’s stare. “She came for a long visit a few months back. Spent some time doing little projects like painting tea cups to pass the time.”

“Oh,” Ben mumbled, only half paying attention, “um, that’s nice, I guess.”

“It is.” Old Ben sat down across from him, plucking a cookie from the plate. “Now tell me what mistake I happened to have made; I don’t think you have told me.”

“Oh uh,” his gaze dropped down to the perfectly made tea in his hands, Ben taking a sip to buy more time—to find the courage to say the words he needed to say.

He took a long sip, letting the warm liquid hit the back of his throat and take it’s time traveling down.

Naturally, the tea was perfect, as it always had been when made by Old Ben.

“I…I think you made a mistake place Breha with me.”

Old Ben did not seem offended by the accusation, simply setting his half eaten cookie down in favor for his tea. “What makes you believe that?”

“I’m not good enough,” Ben told him, as though it were obvious. “I am struggling to do this. Be there for her, be the perfect parent for her. I’m always working, I’m never sleeping, I don’t have any help. I cannot do this on my own. I feel like I am drowning and I cannot be drowning when my daughter needs me!”

Across from him, Old Ben hummed in understanding. “And all of this makes you believe I have made a mistake in placing her with you?”

“Yes!”

“Ben, that panic and fear you are feeling,” Ben nodded, waiting for Old Ben to break the news that he’d been right all along and he did indeed make a mistake, “is natural. All new parents feel it sooner or later.”

“ _What_?”

“It is natural,” Old Ben repeated, unfazed by Ben’s aggressive anxiety, “that hopelessness. The worry you are not enough. It means you care and are trying your best. No one is perfect in the first few years. Some aren’t ever perfect. But you are doing the best you can and you have Breha’s best interest at heart. She’s exactly where she needs to be.” He shoved the plate of cookies towards Ben. “Here, have more cookies. You are looking paler than usual.”

“I haven’t really had time to eat,” Ben muttered, a cookie already between his teeth. “Between work, the baby, and everything else.”

“I’ll order take out,” Old Ben announced, standing up to grab menus. “And while we eat dinner, we will discuss what you can do to maybe make your life a little easier. Options that aren’t drastically life altering,” he said pointedly.

“So…you think I’m doing alright?” he asked, stunned the older man remained calm and collected despite Ben basically telling him he believed Breha deserved to live in a different home.

“I think you are doing well,” Old Ben countered, nose wrinkling at the Italian take-out menu before him. “Better than some adopters. I just think you need to be a little more confident.”

“Confident?” Ben was not one to be ‘confident,’ more so the opposite. The only confidence he possessed was of his intellect, otherwise he was a mess.

“Sure of your actions. You passed all the paperwork and all the necessary test for adoption with flying colors. We didn’t just select you for the sake of selecting you.” He picked up a Chinese take-out menu, much more pleased with their offers. “Remember, she’s only five months. Plenty of time to get better at the dad thing.”

“Right…” Ben nodded, a sense of odd relief washing over him. If Old Ben was confident in him, then he must have done something right. “Of course, plenty of time.”

* * *

“But what if I am not enough?” Ben asked again, this time as they were eating their food. Breha sat on his lap, leaning back into him and chewing on her teddy bear’s ears. She’d be due for a bottle soon, though she had yet to whine, in a cheerful mood after waking from her nap. “That one day she is older and wakes up and realizes she got stuck with a not so great dad, who barely knows what he is doing—”

A stack of paper was slapped down in front of him.

A black, fine point pen followed immediately after.

“Write down all you fears. All your concerns. All your worries.” Old Ben tapped the stack, his eyes meeting Ben’s with the utmost compassion. “Write it all down as a letter to an older Breha. An apology, an explanation, whatever you want it to be. But let it give you some release, you cannot go on with all these concerns bottled up. You cannot be the best father you can be like that.”

Part of Ben thought to argue, claim what good it would do him to write to an older Breha. He could barely imagine her a year old, let alone as a teenager or adult.

But perhaps Old Ben had a point; Ben couldn’t let his worries and concerns consume him. He needed to move forward.

Picking up the pen, Ben began to write—

_Dear Breha…_

* * *

**Fourteen Years Later…**

Breha knocked hard on the door, out of breath.

“Come on, come on, come on…”

It was late, already night out and the chances the old man would be awake past eight o’clock were slim. But it was a chance Breha decided to take. There were only so many places she could go, and he felt the safest. Not someone who’d call her parents the first chance he’d get, and more than likely not someone who’d be on her dad’s or mom’s radar.

A light from upstairs flicked on, followed by the sound of moment from inside the ancient townhouse. The porch light flooded the steps, a shadow stepping up to the window.

The door opened, Granddad Kenobi standing before her in a blue night robe and glasses.

“Granddad!” Breha beamed, hoping the man wouldn’t notice her scrapped knees and skidded hands. She may have taken a couple of tumbles during her trek, but nothing too back. “How are you? I thought I’d stop by—”

“Please don’t tell me your pregnant—”

Her smile dropped, blood draining from her face. “ _What_?”

“Huh,” he muttered, staring down at her in thought, “nevermind. What brings you here?”

“I…” Breha chewed her lips together, knowing it best to be honest from the get-go, “I may have ran off after a fight with my mom and was wondering if I could spend the night here?”

His lips twisted into a familiar frown, strikingly similar to her mom’s—well, Rey’s. “Breha, you father—”

“Please, Granddad?” She begged, hands clasped under her chin like some Great Depression orphan. “Please? I promise I’ll call my dad once my phone is charged and tell him where I am at, I just need to crash here for tonight. Please, please, please don’t call them.”

Her granddad sighed, opening the door further. “The moment that phone starts working, I want to see you call your father, and you are going to tell me everything that happened—”

Relieved, Breha flung her arms around him, bring the older man into a warm hug. “Thank you so much, Granddad! Thank you!”

“Get inside, get inside before you catch a cold,” he mumbled, briefly returning her hug. “Don’t you realize it is almost December?”

He led her into his home, shutting the door behind her. She followed him through to the back of the house, he turning on the light to kitchen as he entered. “I have some peanut butter and chocolate cookies somewhere…”

“I love peanut butter and chocolate cookies. They’re honestly the only sweets I like.” Breha confessed. “My dad always has a stash hidden in the house, and it’s nearly doubled since mo— _Rey_ moved in.”

Granddad chuckled, thankfully not noticing her stutter. “You are just like your parents. They always eat all my cookies.”

He set the plate before her on the kitchen table, Breha snatching a cookie from the top. She had yet to eat dinner, taking off before their food arrived. Taking a big bite, the familiar taste of the shortbread cookie brought her at ease for the first time that night.

The same could not be said for her parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THEN. WE KNOW WHERE BREHA IS AT! YAY.
> 
> And keep an eye out for that letter....


	18. Finding Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this has taken me forever but if you follow me on the bird app you'll have an inkling why because life likes to make things difficult sometimes. But I think a near 7k chapter can sort of make up for it? Also I have every intention on finishing this fic by the end of the year.
> 
> Anyways...
> 
> Typos will be fixed later; enjoy! 
> 
> ~*~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Leia gaslights in this chapter.

* * *

“Has she run away before?”

“No.”

“ _Yes_.”

Rey’s head snapped to Ben’s.

His shoulders slumped lower, the heat of Rey’s gaze and the stern tone of Detective Mara Jade enclosing in on him.

“Once when she was seven,” Ben continued, “she was getting bullied at school about not having a mother and being adopted, so she ran off, wanting to find her. I was living with my parents at the time and they live closer to downtown, so she ended up going to taco stand we frequent when she didn’t know where to go. We found her about an hour later.”

Detective Mara Jade hummed, making note of the attempt. “But otherwise there hasn’t been any threats or attempts?”

“No,” Ben assured her, shifting from foot to foot. His entire form was tense, bringing with anxiety, yet he attempted to keep his cool. He needed to keep his cool for the sake of himself and Rey. “This is out of character of her.”

“Do you know of anything to trigger the reaction?”

He glanced at Rey, meeting her eyes for a brief moment—regret ate at her, she no doubt believing Breha running away was her faut. In a way, it was. But it was also Breha’s; she went to the extreme for some reason, the extreme by means of running away, when she knew better. She knew better than to go off and make decisions when she was angry, he and her had talked about it on numerous occasions.

“She and I had an argument. A pretty bad one,” Rey explained, for once speaking more than a few syllables since the officers arrived. “I may be moving and it stirred up old, pent up feelings and…” A shaky breath escaped her, Rey hugging herself tighter. “And some harsh words were said on both sides.”

Detective Jade’s eyes locked on Rey, calculating. “And you _are…_?”

“Her mother.”

“My girlfriend.”

The glanced at each other, both realizing their mistake a second too late.

The detective hesitated. “Mind explaining that a bit clearer, Mr. Solo?”

“Uh,” Ben scratched behind his ear, “she’s both. Technically.” His eyes squeezed shut for an instant before opening, clear and prepared to elaborate. “Rey Williams is Breha’s biological mother, but also my girlfriend. We met this past year and it was a series of coincidences, but long story short—Breha is my adopted daughter, and I am the only person who holds parental rights for her, and for all intents and purposes Rey is my girlfriend. We live together.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have reduced her to the simple, juvenile label, but there wasn’t an easier way to indicate her significance in the matter.

“Huh.” Detective Jade uttered, making a sharp mark on her notepad. “Guess that rules out your daughter running to her biological parent since mommy is right here.”

Rey winced at the term.

Ben tried not to take the reaction to heart.

“But I can imagine the situation has brought some…tension.” Detective Jade landed on, the word not too accusatory, unlike her aged green eyes. “How has she been in this adjustment?”

“Good,” Rey breathed out, squirming a little in her chair. The dinning table was comfortable enough, but the longer the officers lingered around the house more the anxious she seemed to be. “Better than I think we thought she’d be?”

“Right,” Ben tacked on, “she had her…apprehension in the beginning. Because Rey was her biological mother and her teacher—”

“Wait—” Detective Jade held her hand up before pointing to Rey, “—you were also the girl’s teacher?”

“Yes.”

The detective’s lips quirked to the side, but she motioned for them to continue.

“So it as possible she wouldn’t like the change, but she adjusted, like we all did.”  
  


“How long had you two been seeing each other romantically?”

“Two months,” Rey supplied.

The detective hummed, unamused. She made note in her little notebook. “Well—we’ve checked the perimeter and have spoken with neighbors. No one has seen a girl of Breha’s description in the last hour. And the contacts you listed have also not seen her or have received word from her. They know to contact us or you if they do and stay home in the event she does show up.”

Rey felt the weight in her stomach increase by tenfold. But she knew everyone was doing all they could to help.

Leia and Han had been messaging Ben nonstop, asking questions and sending their own friends on lookout for their granddaughter.

Luke messaged Rey, telling her he’d keep her in prayer. She refrained an eyeroll when that text came in her notifications. She appreciated the gesture, but the priest wasn’t necessarily on her good side these days.

Then there were their friends—Rose had checked the café and made camp there, while her boyfriend, Armitage, remained planted at their apartment, on the off chance Breha went in either direction. Rey even called Finn and asked him to check in on her house—a half packed mess she needed to finish clearing up—informing him where to find the extra key and keep look out for Breha.

When Ben called Poe, he flew into ‘Poe Panic,’ as though he was a soldier on the frontlines, ready to search the entire _state_ to find Breha. Ben, luckily, was able to calm him down and just told him to stay home, and calm them if he heard, saw, or knew anything about Breha’s whereabouts.

Those were the few and only places Breha knew by heart, or would even have an inkling to hide out. She had half the mind to call Granddad Kenobi but knew he’d be asleep, never the mind Breha had perhaps been there only a handful of times, if any. She wouldn’t even know how to get there.

“My main concern is it’s late,” Ben stressed, frantic and determined eyes meeting those of the cool demeanor Detective Jade. “She’s a afraid of the dark.”

“She is?” Rey uttered. She never had an clue Breha could be afraid of the dark.

“Yes,” Ben’s eyes darted to her before landing back on the detective, “she’s always been afraid. I’ve tried to break her out of it but…” He shook his head. “She couldn’t have gone too far and she’s clever. Very clever.”

Detective Jade seemed rather done with the conversation, standing before Ben could make any further insistence. “I understand Mr. Solo. Everyone’s child is smart and clever. But she’s still not here, nor anywhere nearby as far as we know. The only item that seemed to be taken in her departure was her backpack. Do you know what she’d have in her backpack?”

“Her phone and charger,” Rey answered. “Snacks. She always carried crackers and granola bars.” Ben nodded in confirmation, Detective Jade writing down the information. “She left her books, but took her favorite sweater and her sketchpad.” She shrugged. “That’s all I noticed.”

“She always carries her wallet in her backpack,” Ben supplied, chewing hard on the inside of his cheek. “She has cash, but she also has a bank card. I can give you that information and see if she uses her card anywhere.”

“That’ll help,” Detective Jade nodded once. “We’ll track both the phone and keep an eye on her card for any transactions. Maybe that’ll lead us on the right path.” Her expression softened, apparently noticing their worry. “Teenagers run all the time. Most of the time they come back within forty-eight hours. Mostly because they run out of cash or get spooked. If she’s gone for longer, then she’d be a missing person. That’s when you can be worried. Right now, based off what you told me, she is a teenager who needed to blow off steam. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s home before daylight.” She snapped her notebook shut and clicked her pen closed, both tucked into her coat pocket. “Nevertheless, we’ll be on the lookout.”

She left with little else to reassure, Ben standing to walk her to the door.

Sitting alone at the dinning table, all Rey could conclude was this was all her fault.

* * *

“How do you like your tea?”

“Three sugars and milky,” Breha answered, mouthful of peanut butter cookies. At the kitchen table, she had shucked off her coat and shoes, and was wrapped up in a blanket. She needed a shower, mud on the cuffs of her jeans and twigs still trapped somewhere in her hair, but Kenobi was more concerned about warming her up and feeding her plenty of comfort food.

He already popped left over homemade mac and cheese in the oven.

“Just like your father,” Granddad Kenobi chuckled. He prepared her tea with familiar ease and handed the cup off to her.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the painted tea cups. “These are delightful! The detail is remarkable…” she squinted at the tea cup. Lilacs painted with finesse and a gentle touch. “These are hand done,” she whispered in awe.

“Your mother painted them,” Granddad Kenobi dropped a couple of sugars into his cup, and stirred, “when she was pregnant with you.”

“Oh.” Breha set the tea cup down, suddenly not entire enticed by the beverage.

Strange to think of Rey once pregnant, with her no less. Stranger to think she perhaps once sat where Breha did, extremely focused on the cup and paint brush, while Granddad Kenobi prepared breakfast.

She must have already decided Breha was no longer hers, but to be put for adoption.

Strange indeed.

“The set she painted is my absolute favorite,” Granddad Kenobi chattered on, paying no mind to Breha’s lapse of silence. “She’s always been talented, my granddaughter.”

“I suppose,” Breha shrugged. She shoved another cookie in her mouth; food made things better right? Cookies could cure the odd sensation of sadness and frustration bubbling in the depths of stomach.

“However, I believe her greatest creation is you.”

She stopped chewing. Warmth spread across her cheeks, Breha ducking her head down. Swallowed, she reached for her tea. “That’s kind, but a lie.”

“Not a lie,” Granddad Kenobi uttered, the mildest bit offended. “I never lie.”

Breha raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you’ve known who my mother was for years and never said a word.”

“You never asked until you were older,” the elderly man shrugged. “There was no need to tell you. Dear Breha, sometimes we older folks keep matters to ourselves to protect those we love.” He dunked his cookie in his tea, the liquid sloshing a bit into the saucer. “Your parents, despite their many choices and flaws, adore you to pieces. They’d never do anything to harm you; if anything, they do all in their power to shield you from pain.”

The oven pinged.

“The macaroni must be done,” he muttered, leaving the table for their late meal.

Considering they were alone, and Kenobi seemed like a wise man—at least the wisest in her reach—Breha carefully treed her explanation. “You see…I like to believe that too. That they want what’s best for me. I do…” She loved her dad and she cared for Rey, but sometimes she wondered why they didn’t let her in; why she was so often considered the child, without her own thoughts and opinions. Because darn it, she had thoughts and opinions on Rey leaving. She had so many thoughts and opinions, it hurt to even think about them. “But I’m upset. Really upset with them.”

“Pray tell,” Granddad Kenobi encouraged. He poked the mac n’ cheese with a fork, not satisfied with its gooy-ness and stuck it back in the oven. “What did they do to make you so upset? Enough to run to a old man’s house at night?”

She felt guilt swell in her.

She needed to call her parents. They were probably worried sick.

But her phone was barely on ten percent and charging was taking forever and a year.

“Rey quit Yavin and she might be moving to Spain.” She frowned down at her tea, puzzled. “Or is it Italy? I don’t know.” She shook her head. “But she might be a professor at Jedah University in less than a month and she’s leaving.”

“I see.” Granddad Kenobi sat back down. He sipped his tea in thought. “What does your father think of this?”

“He’s fine! In fact, he supports her!”

“He told you this?”

He caught the little flaw in her story. With _ease_.

“No…” Breha trailed off, unable to meet her great-grandfather’s perceptive eyes. “I found out by accident. I needed to borrow Rey’s laptop since my mine is always acting stupid,” she rolled her eyes; that was her Christmas list— _new laptop_ , and one capable of art graphics. “When I opened her laptop I found the resignation letter and…” She slumped against the table. “And then we yelled a lot, and maybe I said mean things and maybe she said means things and…” A pressured, tear inducing sniffle escaped her. “And—and,” she scrubbed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners as she struggled to keep it together. “And I don’t want her to go. I just—just,” a hiccupped built in her, but Breha swallowed it down—poorly, “I just don’t want her to go when I just got her.”

Hot tears came freely, Breha rubbing her eyes to stop them from coming.

“Oh, my dear,” came Kenobi’s hushed lament.

“It’s not fair!” She gulped for air, her nose congested with building snot. A handkerchief was handed to her. Blowing her nose, she tried to collect her thoughts, but they were all jumbled. “It’s not fair she gets to be here and then leave! It’s not. Not just for me,” she wheezed, voice scraggly, “but for my dad. He really, really loves her.” Her dad was all smiles around Rey; not that he wasn’t smiley before, but it’s a different kind of smile. One that said he loved things about Rey that he could never love in someone else. Like he found someone who understood him, and Breha found she liked that for him. She liked that for her dad, a lot. “And—and why would they keep this from me? I’m their daughter, this affects me too.”

Granddad Kenobi didn’t have a response, instead going to check on the macaroni again.

“They must have both known for days,” she mumbled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Really. They must have. And she said it was to ‘protect’ me and that things were my fault because I found her and—”

A plate of macaroni and cheese was place in front of her.

“Eat before you pass out from your crying,” Kenobi ordered. Another plate sat by his spot, though he made no move to sit down. “I’ll be back in a mo’.”

He disappeared further into the house, leaving Breha at the kitchen table.

Once he was gone, she shoved a mouthful of mac n’ cheese into her mouth.

It was the best she’d ever eaten. For some reason, that made her cry harder.

* * *

“We should send a search party.”

“Mom—”

“Listen to me Benjamin,” Leia Organa scolded through the receiver, her voice loud and clear on speaker, “if we send a search party, we’d be able to find her sooner than just sitting on our asses waiting—”

“We need to stay put, Mom,” Ben paced in front of the phone, glaring down at where it sat on the coffee table. From the couch, Rey remained a safe distance from the ongoing argument between mother and son. She assumed Han was doing the same. “That’s what the detective told us to do.”

“Because the Detective does not care!” Leia roared. “She just thinks this is a kid being a hooligan, when this is not the case! Breha does not do shit like this!”

“You think I don’t fucking know that!” He shot back, hands on his hips, a furry set in his jaw. “I know my own fucking daughter, Mom!”

“Ben, don’t talk to me like that,” Leia growled, hurt and offended, “I get that you’re upset— _wait_ —are you taking your pills?”

He didn’t warrant her comment with a response, instead he walked away to his room and slammed the door. Seconds later a muffled scream was heard.

Rey winced.

Shifting closer to the phone, Rey figured she could attempt to diffuse the situation. “Hey Leia—”

“Hello Rey,” the woman’s monotone greeting was less than welcoming, “tell my son he needs to take action if he is going to find Breha. The police force does not care about this. We have to do our part.”

“I understand, Leia,” Rey began, “but we are all trying our best here. He wants to be here incase Breha comes home, which could be very likely.”

“It’s almost midnight,” Leia said, voice low and still, “are you telling me you are going to let Breha—your daughter—be gone all night? Not knowing if she is safe. Not knowing where she is.”

Rey reeled back.

Leia had never called Breha her daughter _once_. She preferred to referrer to Rey as Ben’s girlfriend, but never openly acknowledge the biological connection between the teenager and the woman since their terrible ‘family’ dinner.

“Of—of course not. But like I said, we’re trying our best.”

“Then try _harder_.” Soft shuffling was heard. “I get it. We all have fight, flight, or frozen modes. And you have probably chosen flight all your life—your track record deems so. You probably are itching to get out of there.” How the woman could see right through her when she was a good few miles away, and on a phone call, Rey would never know. “Ben, well he’s, a fighter and he has probably paced the entire house and contacted everyone he knows and maybe broke something while in the process.” Rey’s eyes drifted to the thrown laundry on the floor. Tossed over in a spurt of frustration. At least it wasn’t breakable. “You cannot be a flight-er right now. You need to be fighter and find her because this town is only so big and there are only so many places she could run to.”

Rey gulped. “I understand.”

“I don’t know what happened, but this is not Breha. And it has me really worried. I just want to understand what would cause her to run away.”

“Actually, I have a confession. I might have—”

Ben’s hands reached for the phone and turned it off speaker.

Rey hadn’t realized he returned.

He pressed the phone to his ear, but his eyes remained locked on Rey, who gapped at him. “Mom—I gotta go. I’ll give you updates. Bye.”

He ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“Why did you do that?” Rey asked, blinking at where the phone had sat. “I was going to tell her what happened—”

“We are _never_ going to tell her what happened,” Ben corrected. “She doesn’t need to know. My mother will only give us more grief about the situation, and we don’t need another reason for her to hate you.”

“She hates me?” Rey uttered, feeling a stress headache take form.

“More or less,” Ben gave a hapless shrug, “but it’s nothing to worry about. She was actually starting to warm up to you before all of this.”

“That’s reassuring.” Rey stood up from the couch, dusted off her floral skirt and made her way to the kitchen. She left her phone on the counter, she quickly checking—no updates from anyone—and pocketing it.

Groceries remained on the counter, untouched from when Ben arrived hours earlier. Their turkey was probably properly defrosted, an unfortunate fact considering Thanksgiving was days away.

Ben followed, only a few steps behind her, an anxiousness to him that unsettled her. His anxiousness made her more anxious, and both of them being balls of anxiety would do them no good.

“But she has a point. We can’t just be here like sitting ducks,” Rey said through an exhausted sigh.

“We don’t have much of an option.”

“But I feel like we have to try.” Rey edged her way to the entryway, grabbing her sneakers tucked under the bench. She sat down, and began tying up her laces.

Ben’s brows furrowed. “We’ve already checked the perimeter.”

Once done, she grabbed her jacket and scarf. Stuffing a hand into her pocket, she found her keys and wallet. “Doesn’t mean we can’t try again. I can’t just…” she shook her head. “This is my fault.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It is,” Rey stressed. For an extra measure, she pulled off the beanie—left behind by Breha that afternoon—and shoved it on her head. It was getting colder outside, and she prayed the girl wasn’t outside. “It really is my fault. I should have told her the situation—”

Ben huffed, eyeing her beanie and jacket. He must have put together what she was doing, and he seemed keen on stopping her, if he subtly blocking the front door were anything to go by. “I told you not to.”

He didn’t want Breha to worry or feel like Rey resigning was her fault. He didn’t want her to worry about them; she was a teenager, the only thing she needed to worry about was school and her friends. Not the fate of her biological mother’s career and the future of her parent’s relationship.

“I know.” Rey nodded, ducking her head down. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel like shit about this. She hugged herself, feeling small and unhelpful; a pity considering she wanted to be of some help, any help. “Maybe this is a sign.” She inhaled deeply, hoping to have the courage to confess the thoughts swirling in her mind all evening. “Maybe I should go to Jedah and just…let you and Breha be. Not be as involved; keep my distance, not just physically where I live but overall. This…this is a lot and it’s only been, what? Three—maybe four months?” She swallowed tightly, forcing herself to meet his soft brown eyes. “This is fast and…maybe too much for her. She running off only proves that.”

“Are you serious?” Ben uttered, betrayal shinning in his eyes. “We said we’d make it work if you got the job in Jedah—but now you are essentially saying you want to cease contact—”

“I didn’t say cease contact—”

“But you implied as much.” He stood tall, arms crossed over his chest, frustration coiling in him. He looked at her like she’d was speaking gibberish. “Just because things get hard doesn’t mean you get to step out of Breha’s life. Fuck whatever is going on between us. We’re adults, we can hash that out between us later, but you cannot come into Breha’s life and then step away. Yes—I get it. The job is one you cannot pass up, and I think it’s a wonderful opportunity for you, but don’t make it into an excuse to run away.”

“It’s not an excuse,” she chewed hard on her lips, looking anywhere but him, “it’s just me thinking this through—”

“Has anyone ever told you to not make decisions when you are stressed or upset?” Ben asked, a sense of genuine curiosity in his words. “Because that’s when we as people can make our worst choices and I think this might be one of those.”

Rey didn’t know what to say.

Now that she thought about it…she made almost all her decisions in the heat of the moment.

It protected her. Kept people at a safe distance. Kept life interesting and going.

She never had to stop and think. She just acted and reacted. Life was easier that way.

Planting herself in one place for too long wasn’t easy. Planting herself meant making connections and working hard at the relationships she formed.

Like working on her relationship with Ben and Breha.

“I…” She blinked up at him, suddenly feeling open like a weeping wound. “I need to go.”

She turned on her heel, and bypassed Ben to the door.

“Rey, please. I _can’t_ be alone right now,” he insisted, a newfound worry in his eyes. He reached for her, but held back. There was a manic to him at the thought of being alone; part of her felt the draw to stay, yet another told her to go.

“Well, I _need_ to be alone right now. I’m sorry.” She closed the door behind her and hurried to her car.

Before stepping into the driver’s seat, she sent a text.

** Rey **

**I know we asked you to stay home and be on the lookout,**

**but I highly doubt Breha would go into the city.**

**Can you come over to Ben’s? Just to sit with him.**

**This has been a lot on him and he needs a good friend,**

**not a girlfriend right now.**

The response was instant.

** Poe **

**On it. Already getting into my car.**

**Be there in a few.**

She needed to clear her mind. A drive would do just that.

And maybe a visit to her granddad as well.

* * *

“Here.” Kenobi handed her a letter. “Your father wrote this year ago. Back when you use to droll all over my kitchen table,” he added with a chuckle.

The envelope had an aged crispness, not weathered or aged with color, but oddly cool to the touch.

_Dear Breha,_

_You are sitting on my lap and are gnawing on your teddy bear—Griswold—like a puppy. You still have spit up stains on your collar from lunch. I don’t think the formula agrees with you. I’ll switch it. Promise._

_You are just five months old._

_Just five months, and somehow an eternity has passed since you were placed in my arms. Before you came along, I was a different man. With goals and aspirations, and with a diligent schedule._

_But that is no more._

_I am always a half hour late to everything. I was never like this, but somehow being your father has made me more frazzled than I’ve ever been in my life. And that includes college._

_I called in sick to work today because you could not stop crying. Insistent. Grating. Headache inducing. Nothing I did could soothe you and I felt helpless. So I cried on the floor once you fell asleep because I haven’t slept in days, and god, I feel like shit._

_I believe I am terrible at this job. Being your father. Here I am just complaining about you. But you deserve the best Breha. The best father, the best family._

_You need someone who will be ready to tackle the world for you. Someone who will scare away the monsters and leave the hall light on in case you are afraid of the dark. Not someone who hasn’t taken a shower in days because he read about babies turning over in their sleep and getting stuck against the crib rails and keeps on having nightmares about the scenario._

_Yes, I have had that nightmare twice this week._

_You need a mother. A woman who can swaddle and care for you in a way maybe I’m just not capable of. A mom who can bake you cookies or cupcakes for class when it’s your birthday, or to help you do your hair in the morning._

_How can I be mother and father, when my examples were not the best?_

_I can recall my mother tucking me into bed a handful of times. My dad would be gone for months and then come back like no time had passed. They missed birthdays, they never taught me how to do laundry or cook—I had to figure it out all on my own—, and I learned how to forge their signature by the time I was seven._

_Never forge my signature. Never Breha, I mean it. I’ll know if you do._

_Because I’ll know you. I’ll listen and care. I guess that’s all I can offer as parent. My ear to listen and my shoulder to cry on. I’ll comfort you when you trip and scrape your knee. I’ll tend to it like a battle wound. I’ll listen to you when you rant about classmates or teachers or people, because I can assure you people suck. People are fucking terrible seven times out of ten, but I have faith you’ll find your people. _

_I’m sorry if I care too much. I’m sorry if I get anxious and over compensate when it comes to you. I’m sorry if I double pack your school bag with an extra sweater because I know you’ll either get one muddy at recess or lend one to a friend because you have a big heart._

_Oh, how I hope you have a big heart. The world needs more big hearts._

_I’m sorry if I keep things from you—I just want to protect you. You’re my world. Even when you are grown—difficult to believe because you are drooling on my neck and shoulder—you will still be my world. Because even if I suck at this job, I’m your father._

_I always wants what is best for you. I never want you to be in pain, emotional or physical. Even if it mean I need to be the bad guy._

_I’ll be the bad guy more than I probably ever want to be by being your father._

_I’ll be the one to ground you, take away TV time, or your books if you are an avid reader, and the one to say no to staying up late to watch one more movie. I’ll be the one to force you to do your homework when you don’t want to do it and yell when you run a stoplight when I teach you how to drive._

_I’ll be the bad guy, the worry wart, and the overprotective father—but know it comes from love and I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to be everything you need, that sometimes I might not be the dad you want. And I’m sorry for that, but I’m also not sorry. I can’t help but put you first. Please understand that._

_If I fail you, at least I know and you know, I tried my best._

_Please know I love you. Even if I’m not perfect, I love you to pieces._

  * _Dad_



Breha blinked down at the paper, tears speckling on the corner of the page.

She gasped hurriedly drying the damp spot and wiping under her eyes.

Looking up, she found Granddad Kenobi minding his own business with his tea and novel across the table. He was engrossed, giving her the mental privacy as she read.

“Um, excuse me?” She sniffed and forced a straight face. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice her tears smattered across her cheeks. “Where is the bathroom?” Another wave of tears pressed behind her eyes. “To, uh, freshen up. From outside.”

“Second door on the left,” Kenobi nodded to the corridor. “There are towels in the bathroom linen closet and I believe your mother might have an extra pair of sweatpants and t-shirts around there too. She’d stay here during her visits,” he added as a quick explanation.

Breha nodded and went to the bathroom, a small ‘thank you’ uttered in passing.

She shut the door behind her, back pressed against the wooden door.

Tired. Sleepy. Sweaty. Cold.

All formed together to create the disgust and guilt she felt on her and inside.

Slumping down to the floor, Breha only wanted two things.

To go home and to be with her parents.

* * *

She drove through all the familiar streets. Slow and calculated. Searching for any sign of Breha. A backpack. A flash of bright hair. Anything really.

But as the hour rolled a quarter past eleven, Rey knew her endeavor was futile. Most families and residents in town, the ocean side, and mountain side usually were in their homes by ten in the evening. No one roamed about at night, not even on the weekends.

Breha would have been found by now if she was just wandering about.

As she pulled into the old driveway, Rey collected the remaining courage within her. Stepping up to Granddad Kenobi’s door meant accepting defeat.

She failed at this parent thing, and she wasn’t even a real parent. The most adequate term she could label herself was ‘nosey and chaos-inducing girlfriend.’

Her granddad believed in her. Had from the beginning. Believed she could be a decent human despite screw up after screw up. This was just another event to add to the list.

But this wasn’t something to take lightly; Breha was missing and Rey felt like she had nowhere left to turn.

Rapping her knuckle against the door, she waited. There was a low chance the elderly man would be up at this hour. Her granddad was fond of his sleep.

However, Kenobi did occasionally like to surprise her.

Quiet shuffling was heard in the aged house. A porch light flicked on, a shadow near the window.

The door opened wide, revealing a wide awake Benjamin Kenobi. “Rey!” A relief shined in his eyes. “She called you?”

“Excuse me?” Rey had no idea what he was talking about. “Who called me?”

His eyes widened, then softened. “I must say, your motherly intuition is inherent.”

“My motherly—” There was only one person he could talking about. “ _Breha?_ Breha—you know where Breha is—”

“She’s upstairs,” Granddad Kenobi mustered out before Rey barreled past him and into the house. She took a left and dashed up the carpeted stairs. Two stairs at a time, she made it up the stairs at record speed and beelined to the guest room.

Politeness and consideration thrown out the window, Rey threw open the door. “Breha—”

Her words fell short, her mind finally catching up with the scene.

Curled on her side in bed, hair damp and dressed in clothes a tad too large for her, was her daughter.

Painful joy soared through her at the sight of Breha safe, alive, in a home of someone they trusted. Stepping further into the room, Rey pinched herself.

This was real. The wretched worry and fear festering in her would cease.

Breha looked so small, appearing more like a young child than growing teenager. Her stubborn brows were smoothed and her hair bent in a natural wave against the pillow.

Rey had little desire to wake her, but she could not let the girl sleep. People were worried sick about her, waiting and searching for her. Her father was on edge, worrying away, perhaps believing the worst had happened—that Breha had ran away and had no intention of returning.

On the contrary, that was not the case. At least Rey hoped it had not been.

Taking a set on the edge of the bed, Rey shook the girl’s shoulder, unable to contain herself. “Breha…Breha— _wake up_.”

“Eh—what?” The girl mumbled. Her eyes blinked open—

Then widened, complete and utter shock staring back at Rey. She pressed herself further into the bed.

“What are you doing here?” she said, words drudge in sleep, but growing more alert by the second.

“What are _you_ doing here!” Rey yelped, grabbing Breha’s forearms, helping her sit up. All the joy of relief she felt was overcome with an indescribable anger and frustration, and the need to yell and hug Breha all in one breath. “We have been looking for you for hours! Your father—” Oh god, Ben! She snapped her head to the door, seeing her Granddad acting nonchalant—as though he weren’t watching the reunion, that sneaky bastard. “Call Ben! Now! Tell him we’re here and she’s safe and to get over here.” He nodded, hands up in defense. Her attention snapped back to the teenager in her arms. “My god, Breha! What were you thinking? You could have been hurt or kidnapped or-or-or I don’t know. Shit could have happened—”

The girl in her grasp began to sniffle, an unsureness marred on her face. “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad at you?” Rey echoed. “Of course not! I mean—I’m upset. I am so upset, but I’m more upset with myself than with you, truly.”

“Why?” Breha scrubbed at her right eye, another involuntary sniffle emerging. “I confronted you. I was the one who yelled and I ran. I ran away and hurt you and made things a mess.”

“Because I should have told you sooner, about resigning and the job offer.” Rey brushed a stay hair out of Breha’s face, and tucked it behind her ear; it always seemed like Breha’s hair was a mess these days. “But I didn’t know how and I didn’t want you to get upset.” An exasperated exhale escaped her; all her work to prevent Breha from getting hurt and upset backfired in the worst possible way. “Ironic, I know.”

Breha didn’t say anything, more concerned with keeping her tears at bay and not submitting herself to more embarrassment, if the stubborn flush of her cheeks were anything to go by.

“Look,” Rey began, hoping her words wouldn’t betray her, “I’m relatively new this parent thing. I never thought I’d be a mother. This was never really part of the plan.”

Breha’s pinched brows and her chewed, frowned down lips told Rey maybe she needed to amend her statement.

“What I mean is…Breha, I never thought you’d try to find me. I figured you’d be happy with your family.” When she handed off her baby all those years ago, she believed her daughter would be happy with a new mother and father, and would never feel compelled to find her, to get to know her. “But when you came into my life—”

“I ruined everything?”

“No,” Rey murmured, Breha’s response a aching blow to the gut, “you made everything better. My world better.”

“That’s because you love my dad,” Breha argued back, starting to wiggle out of Rey’s grasp.

“No Breha,” Rey insisted, “it’s because I love you.”

The teenager stilled in her grasp. Mouth parted and staring down at the floor, Breha shook her head back and forth. “What?”

“Because I love you,” Rey repeated. “You are more than I could have ever imagined. You are brilliant, smart, and kind. You are so adored by your family. You have more talent in your pinky than most people have in their entire bodies.” A watery giggle bubbled through her, the release cathartic. “Breha, I have never stopped loving you. It’s just changed now because I know you. And now that I know you, I want to do everything in my power to care for you, and protect you. Which means making so many mistakes.” More than an understatement. “Breha, knowing you is the greatest privilege and opportunity I’ve ever had in my life,” she confessed. Not once over the last fourteen years did she believe she’d get to know and build a relationship with her daughter; she sealed that part of her away, the quiet yearning for what she gave up for the betterment of everyone involved. “Please never say you ruined everything. You did the exact opposite. Please believe that.”

Breha’s apprehension gently melted away. “Really?”

“Yes, _really_ ,” Rey was quick to assured, giving a quick squeeze to the girl’s biceps. “I love you Breha. I want to be in your life, how ever you will allow me.”

Her daughter did not say anything.

Eyes glued to floor, deep in thought.

For a moment, Rey believed this was it—Breha wanted her out. Gone. The end of the fragile, but wonderful relationship. Rey had her opportunity and she wasted it. The beginning of the end—

Arms wrapped around her, Breha crushing Rey in a desperate hug.

Into her shoulder and neck, a tired and full, _“I love you, too,”_ was heard.

She returned her daughter’s embrace, just as fierce; this moment was all she ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this here readers, is when we discover the real love story was never about Rey and Ben, but about Rey and Breha. A mother and daughter.
> 
> *sobs*
> 
> But who here really thought this was all about Rey and Ben? I never did.
> 
> Originally the chapter was longer, but I decided this was a pretty good ending to this section!
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always appreciated; love discussing the fic with readers :D

**Author's Note:**

> I have been playing with this idea and am curious to see if anyone is intrigued.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos are always appreciated; love discussing the fic with reads :D


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